Redemption
by pitkat
Summary: UPDATED Vegeta found himself in a predicament where he has nowhere to go, and is forced to deal with his life decisions on Earth. Humans are eerily similar, offering condolence for the lost and misunderstood culture he had little opportunity to know.
1. Prologue and Author Note

_**Prologue**_

He could clearly recall sitting back against the wall, crestfallen. The devastation of defeat was utterly crushing, leaving nothing but an empty shell of the individual behind to watch with dulled eyes the events as they passed before him. Although slowed and etched bleakly into his memory, the effect nevertheless held its place in the back of Vegeta's mind – the bitterness growing with trepidation. His brain clicking with each opportunity to rebel against the enlightened few, and his control was slowly slipping away.

As the neurons fired electrodes in the dark, marking his experiences into the sinuous network like burning information onto a memory plate, he could now understand with veneration why his kind was so feared. Why the elite stood amongst the legendary and the true sacrifice they made for this 'gift.' The raw power at its essence was a plea for death. A berserker fighting in his last pallid breath with the knowledge that his effort was in vein.

Freeza was accurate when it all too clearly stipulated how the tsiru Overseers claimed power on the back of his kind; now the last forgotten by the many that surpassed them. The razukin fleets placed their transition, the ascension of the saiyan race in a bold manner. Yet, they chose to neglect to credit their origins alongside them. Instead, they were seemingly abandoned in the midst of it all – wistfully discarded as obsolete.

How could he not be bitter? He was supposed to be their leader. Their representative. Even as a puppet, his role was to oversee these times. No. Instead, he was cheated not only his place in the system, but damned to watch it fall pitifully into ruin. One by one as they disappeared, he was left behind somehow, and he could not help but blame himself for his inability to ease the ebb. He could not save them nor could he protect them any longer.

They were extinct.

* * *

**AN**: Welcome to my story! AU alert! This is an **alternate universe** centered around Vegeta as the main character and his involvement on earth. It's a BV, but not during the three year deal, and sort of does not involve the android threat.

I don't own anything, and there will be OCs added with the canon cast. I've also taken some steps to pull the anime character concepts of the Dbz world kicking and screaming into a realistic one. I know, I'm crazy. But still, that's what fanfic is about:)

_Redemption_ is part of a much longer story that I'm spinning centered on Vegeta's life. The first story (_Vignettes of a Man Who Knows Too Much_) is in fragments on FFnet and will continue to be until I get around to writing the story in its entirety. If you would like to read more about these fascinating characters and plots, feel free to reference to the growing number of one-shots in my other fic.

Anyway, thank you for taking the time to read, and if you like this, please leave a review. Your comments are greatly appreciated.

Happy Reading!


	2. Gi

**AN: I don't own anything.** Like I said in the Prologue, this is an **AU** fic. Have fun reading and hopefully, you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it. As always, **please please please review!** I greatly appreciate all of your words, both good and bad.

On with the Fic!

**Chapter 1: Gi**

The sea spray splashing back against the breeze seemed to heighten the azure and bullion backdrop of the private beach. The tiny island was just close enough to its larger brother that the opposing coastline was still visible, yet far enough away to give the affluence of isolation. Those two qualities were definitely hard to come by in Japan, and it was a time like this that moving to the island was the better compromise than into the mountains like his friend tried to entice him with all those years ago. He wanted to move to Tahiti or the Bahamas for retirement, not Mount Fuji. Yes, this was better. The enormous sea turtle to his side seemed to concur, sunning itself contentedly near a large boulder. It claimed the place before he did, so the only chivalrous thing to do was welcome the comrade with open arms and enjoy the cliffy flat together like two old farts should.

A small boat approached to the side of the scenic view that the old man was peacefully observing within comfort of a plastic lawn chair. The hat he wore was too small but the brim covered everything important. Overtly large sunglasses were positioned like goggles on his straight thin bridge, and a long face quirked with a sly grin to welcome the newcomers.

"See?" He motioned to the turtle with his drink, "I told you they wouldn't be late."

Leisurely rolling out of his chair, he sniffed and straightened his back giving a call to the white stucco home farther inland, "Mika! Krillin! Get your tushes out here and welcome our guests!"

The miniature yacht slid beside a dock built just for it; the passengers already prepared to jump deck before the ropes were even tide into place. The elderly teacher, sucking down the rest of his near empty beverage, peered over with bushy knit brows and noted his favored pupil backing away with hands held high. The tall, built man stood a good head height above his contender, yet quivered fearfully from whatever wrath she was about to bestow. It never fazed him to know that the boy would pick a feisty wife.

"NO!"

"Ah, come on Chi. It's just an outfit."

"I know _exactly_ what that outfit is and I said NO," and the lively creature revealed herself standing at the bow of the ship. Spine straight, arms folded delicately across her navy chest wrap, the woman carried herself with a sense of confidence that defied all stigma associated with the traditional attire she insisted on always wearing. The old man smacked his lips, putting down the drink on the back of his companion, and sifted for the owner of the vessel.

One of the two men waffling impatiently on the dock hastily interjected while his younger sibling secured their transport for everyone else, "Goku, did you really have to bring this up now? I mean, come on, we just got here and you're already picking a fight."

He gave an unappreciative side-glance before frowning at his spouse, "But I wanted to show it off to everyone."

Chichi glared viciously, huffing through her nose, and it was instantly understood that if she was not appeased, there would no food for any of them.

"Chi, knock it off," came the flat voice of the controller from below deck. The sensei smiled roguishly as the petite woman popped her blonde head out. She just cut her hair again; the wind-bullied tresses catching the light wind only further emphasized the nymph-like quality of her physique, "It's just a gi. Now, out! I'm thirsty and your arguing is getting in the way of my drinking. Off!"

Before Chichi had the opportunity to accompany dialog with the affronted expression, Bulma met her height and pushed her closer to the dock edge, motioning everyone else out of the boat while she was at it.

"Just a gi. _Just_ a gi," the conservative brunette muttered to herself, bypassing the sensei without so much as a word into the house behind him.

The old man pursed his lips together watching her pass before returning to the crew following in toe with a stash of supplies. With a nod to each, "Tien. Chaozu, boy you've grown up. When was the last time I saw you?"

"Two years ago, sensei," Tien answered for him, nudging his brother to deliver the rice parcels before the woman completely lost it in the house. Both were equally tall and American, an odd addition to the group considering most customs were so butchered by the time they had the prospect to learn them. A military aura was splashed with Caucasian buzzed scalps and demeanors too straight edge for the informal attitude the teacher developed over recent years. The old man would just have assumed shave them, but it was the style, "He just got done with ROTC last spring."

"Ah, out of school now," the elder prodded with recognition, "Are you going to have him come out for the summer?"

"I don't know yet. That's really up to him anyway," he replied with bow. His height returned to a smiling visage of the short, tanned monk suddenly standing to his side, "I'm sure it would do him some good to stay here for a while."

"We'll see what we can do. Krillin here has had excellent progress in, what is it now…"

"Three years," the midget answered with a wide grin. His reticence was lost only in his expression as he greeted his friend warmly, "The sea is a distraction, though. I spend too much time watching it."

"Well, it's not Songshan that's for sure," Tien complied. The monk was recommended to the old man by one of the Shaolin temples after Goku left. In some ways, it was an excuse to occupy the teacher with activities other than terrorizing the young women in the nearest town, "Say, would you mind helping me get the rest of Chichi's things? I don't want to leave my brother in there for too long. He's not used to her behavior when she's angry."

He smiled sympathetically, a gesture well endowed by the Tibetan, "I see that Goku has said or done something to upset her again?"

"Again?" The tone was incredulous as they directed themselves back to the boat, "I swear every time I see her nowadays, she's upset about something."

"Now, where's my shutsuran?" The elder muttered, letting the two go to spot others loitering the dock. Goku spent some time introducing a young boy to the island edge, who was taking the tide warily as it lapped lazily into the sand. Bulma watched on the side, attempting to drag an ice chest filled her intoxicating method of escape before it was received cordially by Tien with his second load. It was only then that she caught the leering eye of the old man before he could pounce.

"Roshi Sensei!" Goku peeked up with a smile that could blind the sun. The elder shifted his gaze back to his pupil and a jovial slap on the shoulder followed their greeting. The woman was next.

"Roshi, where's your flavor of the week? I brought some things for her," Bulma was prepared for this, giving a swift bow before hiding behind her taller friend.

But the sensei wanted a hug from this one. "You brought me packages," he said with a smile as Bulma pulled her hands up defensively to her chest and accepted the invasion into her personal space like a cat ready to flee. A fake grin plastered on her face as she leaned back to lock eye contact with the bearded man, "Roshi, I brought some things for _Mika_. Now if you please, kindly let go of _my_ packages."

"Oh, I'm sure she'll like whatever you have for her, Bulma," he smirked with sheepish satisfaction as Bulma readjusted her crème sundress, driven up over her bare shoulders, and fussed toward the house in retreat, "Goku."

The younger apprentice looked down and to his side for the boy once standing near the dock. In the time it took for everyone to be greeted, the turtle managed to climb over and inspect the yacht. The tall glass was still precariously balanced on its checkered shell as it passed slowly by the ogling child. He jumped impulsively as his father's shadow covered him, a Cheshire grin beaming down guided by a loving voice, "Gohan, you remember Roshi Sensei, don't you?"

The boy jerked out of his reverie to acknowledge his father quietly. Like his mother, he was dressed in rather traditional clothing; a round cobalt cap hiding most of his inky hair, almond eyes looked upward to the slightly bent man.

"He's shy," Goku confirmed gently, "He hasn't traveled much; something I intend to remedy."

"I imagine Chichi is protective, ne?"

His student snorted an agreement, ushering his son up on his shoulders, "She means well."

"Yes, well as all mothers do."

Now that the most notable were present, cheery hellos resounded back and forth even before the entry was met. This was the yearly ritual. All of the gang would gather at the sensei's place on the lonely island to catch up on the past year. Usually to celebrate the oncoming summer with some beach play and technical practice now rusty in some form or another. Dubbed 'Kame House' for the resident turtle and similar appearance of its hunched companion, trips like these had become a tradition since many of the visitors' teen years. The little boy shifted slightly to imply his desire to get down, running up to the front door and screaming his greeting to everyone. Although Gohan could barely walk since he last saw many of them, he had a swift memory and like all children, he looked forward to the attention.

"So, I see the player and the pig made it before us," Bulma drawled as she entered the tall open foyer. The windowed space represented more of a porch than a living room, but with the lovely view, it was used as both for such occasions. Two men sat on one of Roshi's couches glaring up at the smug intruder. She rolled a pale shoulder hefting a bulky striped satchel as she passed for the kitchen, dragging a palm across the stouter one's arm, "Aw, it's ok Yajirobi. I mean it in the most loving way."

The indignant expression intensified on his round, stubbly face, "For your information, men with my stature are very prized in some arenas."

"Yeah, if you're a sumo wrestler, Yaj," she shot back sweetly. "The only thing you've wrestled lately is a giant plate of rice."

"Leave him alone, B."

"Oh, I'm just joking!" She tipped back out the kitchen doorway toward the trimmer asian, "Besides, I could deal with a jolly coward far better than a cheating one."

"Here she goes," Chaozu grumbled, snatching a bunch of vegetables and handing it absentmindedly to a fuming Chichi.

"I did not-"

"OK!" Tien stepped in, handing a drink to Bulma, "Take this and go outside. Mika's out there," and then leaned in to mutter at his friend. "We agreed Yamcha. No fights."

The athlete raised a hand in subtle acquiescence to resume watching the ocean spray. Their fight was long since coming, but to the behest of their friends, was often pushed aside so that they could enjoy themselves. Bulma no longer seemed to care since she finally caught him in the act and dropped him like an outgrown habit. She still managed to keep civility, but let loose every once in a while when she caught wind of his most recent exploits. The latest one, clad in a bikini and currently placed by the front entry with a confused expression, did not need to introduce herself as Bulma already knew that she was most likely not with the heavier set fellow beside him and was definitely not Mika.

She wondered if it was ploy to make her jealous or just an immature attempt to rub it in her face. Bulma told herself that it was pointless to give a shit, looking around for the red head sipping martinis near the shoreline on the west end of the house. She promised to bring a set of colognes and other beauty products purchased during her extended stay in France. The woman was not the brightest marble, but she was attractive and Roshi liked her, allowing women worldwide some temporary peace.

"No, no, that would never stop Roshi."

"What was that?" A cheerful older face turned to the blonde muttering at herself, "Oh Bulma, I didn't hear you come up. You shouldn't go sneaking around on people like that."

It amazed her that the Japanese teacher even looked at women over 30, "Heh Mika, I don't think I could sneak if I tried. Besides, you have Roshi, which is certainly a much bigger threat than I could ever be."

A playful giggle came forth that made Bulma instantly regret making the statement, for it pulled in images she earnestly did not want playing behind her corneas. Grabbing the straw with her forefinger, Bulma took several long swigs, nearly gagging on the strength of the alcohol, "My God, what is he doing, trying to kill me?"

Another titter gushed, "Oh that young man knows how to make a drink, doesn't he?"

"You're telling me," wide eyes tried to adjust to the serving readying itself for the drunken banter and the woman slouched into a chair tugging a sigh, "So, you wanna see what I brought you?"

Placing her glass down, Mika clasped her long defined hands together like a child on Christmas morning, "Please!"

And there started another hour of fashion talk mixed with stories the younger really wished were not relayed about the old man. The cologne was to be an anniversary gift coming up within a month. The 'fashion' was lingerie, something that Bulma was sure he probably cared little about, but would refuse to complain over. The saving grace was a call from the white house to her side and a signal from Krillin reeling her back to the group.

"I think we're being called in, Mika." The smile could crack her jaw, "Care to join me?"

"Oh no, hun. I'm content sitting right here with my sunset."

"Ok, then," she pressed, leaving her empty glass on the table between them and turned back to the monk, mouthing the words 'thank you' as she approached.

He smiled, genuinely oblivious to their conversation, "So, how was the tour?"

"It was interesting," she swallowed subtly as they walked back up to the house. Chichi's delicacies were already wafting across the island, instantly wetting the palette, "Same old shit. Same company." They knew each other the longest out of everyone, Krillin introducing Goku to her followed by mixed affinities with the others. Seeking enlightenment under Roshi was merely the cincher that brought everyone together on a regular basis. He accepted how secretive Bulma was about her life and only shared those details with the select privileged. He just happened to be one.

"How are the capsules?"

A snort escaped, "Still blueprinting. At the moment though, I wish I had some."

"Give it a year," he nodded, hands clasped before him.

"You think it'll be done by then?" She inquired, "You've got some high hopes, monk."

"Perhaps."

They entered the now lively home bustling with chatter and music. Goku's wife seemingly calmed herself by taking her hostility out on the cutting board. A mountain of rice, noodles, meats, and pickled vegetables were piling to one side geared up for serving. Sushi and saki were passed and missed, much to Bulma's chagrin.

"I saved you some," Chichi chimed emphatically, stirring the pot before her and pointing to a small tray by the entry.

Crystal eyes lit with gratitude as she picked up the prepped plate. The saki was still warm, "Thanks, Chi."

"Bulma, come here!" A much less stressed Tien caught her attention at the doorway, waving her forward. She could almost hear Chichi growl, "You have to see this."

With beverage in hand, she stalked to the doorframe and looked into the crowded living room. There in the center stood a beaming Goku, clad in a pristine orange gi. Hands on his hips though, he was not preening himself, for standing timidly next to him was a miniature version with freshly cropped hair and a set all his own. Bulma did not think the father's smile could get any bigger as he caught her eye. An uneasy laugh responded as it hit her exactly why Chichi was so heated over a simple outfit. Stupidity flushed across her face.

"That's a training gi," she said definitively.

"It sure is," Goku responded, "I think he's old enough, now. Kami, I was barely his age when I started under grandpa," good spirits getting even higher, "I think it would be good for him to learn some confidence and discipline."

A hard chopping sound resonated from behind Bulma, "Roshi, I think you'll need a new cutting board when we're done here."

A dismissive wave from the old man pushed the conversation forward, "Where are you thinking about training him?"

"Well, at home in the mountains for now. Chichi just got him into an early private school, so he starts that in a week. I figure we could have slow sessions in the afternoons when he gets out."

"It would be a great way to bond with him," Yamcha smiled at the boy from his crouched position on the couch.

"What do you think Bulma?"

Everyone turn to the woman as she stood there motionless, cursing her position between the gang of martial artists and the antimony wielding a blade behind her. Ever since Gohan was born, Chichi had been struggling to ensure that he was sent to a good school. The issue was solidified when Goku became ill some months later, a blood disease slowly, painfully killing him in a way no physical adversary could. For her, the emotional damage of losing him and any financial support that accompanied was too great. It became so incredibly important to her that Gohan was educated and make something of himself that eventually, slowly a wedge developed within the group she used to be so fond of. Where before, they were good influences, they were all now poor role models. Even her own experience in the martial fields was suppressed so that she could drive home the message that her son, her little boy, would have a better life than what she was destined.

Instead of directly answering the question, the civilian most familiar to the group knelt down in front of the five-year-old with a blush to get his attention. Innocent eyes pierced back followed by a disarming smile, "Well aren't you just handsome, little guy. Do you like your present?"

Gohan nodded, looking down in a flirtatious gesture only a child could pull off. Bulma could nary help but admire how much like his father the boy appeared in the moment. Even his natural stance and charming visage were one and the same.

Now securely out of harms way and in the confines of the windowed space, she looked to her friend with approval, "If you think he can handle it and his studies. You know how Chi won't deal with him not focusing on the important things in life."

"Well, of course. There's always balance, Bulma."

"Good. Then, I'm going to go outside and sun for a little while. Let me know when dinner is ready, hm?"

With some relief she exited, followed some time after by her friends as they began their annual duels, although she refused to acknowledge it. The afternoon was reaching its zenith, of which she was almost welcoming the burning sensation on her skin. She was pale from the months in meetings and endless flights over the past eight months. It seemed that the older she got, the more demanding her life became. The Kame tradition was the only time she saw most of them anymore, save rare visits from Krillin and Goku when she happened to be in Japan, and even then, it was becoming a strain to make these occasions. The famed rumors and latest marketing endeavors publicized through her company made it even riskier to leave the civic identity behind for her more personal, more tangible life. The dual reality was beginning to take its toll, and for that, she often dropped off the face of the earth for months at a time.

When she did return, she had to refamiliarize herself with everyone again. They were all growing up, albeit slower and differently than she. One by one, they were developing careers or raising a family. Even Chaozu, the youngster she met when Tien was only in his mid teens, was now graduating secondary school and going off to college or the military or wherever. How much longer could they keep their bonds they so candidly formed from their youth?

Bulma wondered up the coastline of the private beach, grabbing handfuls of sand as she went. The oscillating ocean tide felt relaxing on her feet and after a while, she flounced down into the water. Falling back, she viewed skyward to the ever blue dome. She could understand how therapeutic the surges resonated and why relaxation tapes always had something drifting in and out like the internal hum of a seashell rocking one to sleep. Sensing the volume rise and carry her outward, she heaved herself back up into a sitting position. Her dress was soaked and she could care less.

Turning her head to the side, a blurred image formed on the flat devide between the golden green floor and indigo heavens. She blinked several times, wondering if it was Krillin or even Yamcha coming to fetch her for dinner. Standing up and facing it, she smiled and readied herself for more company, the salt water draining down her legs and into the source to be swept back out to sea. But the image was not the right shape or height for those two, rather taller and darker. Fleetingly, she thought of Goku and concern cinched at her belly with worry that something was wrong. She took several skipping steps up the shore before the figure became suddenly in focus.

Almost immediately, she backed herself up. The figure was male, but not one she recognized, which was unexpected enough considering the size of the island and Roshi as the typical inhabitant. His clothing was particularly unusual, russet legs and arms that appeared to mold to his form covered by a white plate of some kind on his upper body. Bulma squinted, frowning. If she had to guess, it might look like a bizarre set of armor. Minute, horizontal stripes traversed across his chest and glancing up, she noticed an item attached to his face. On his right side only.

A motion slipped in her stomach, dropping it like a ton of bricks. Something told her that this was not right. Taking a few steps back, a rock reached out and tripped her, a padded thump causing panic to ensue at the base of her skull. Flying to her feet, she was off, refusing to look back in case the trespasser felt the need to chase after its prey.

Reaching Kame House was quick, and Bulma slowed her pace toward the attention now directed at her gasping, shaking form.

Goku was the first rush to her, "Bulma, what's wrong. You look white as a sheet."

For some reason, words could not pass her lips as her jaw refused to still itself, "Up – up the – the shore. There – there was someone – there."

Krillin and Yamcha were close behind, looking at each other in bemusement.

"What do you mean?" He tried again, "Did someone hurt you?"

All she could do was shake her head mutely. The three comrades looked to the horizon unsure of what they might see. Only the salt spray permeated their vision.

"Why don't you come inside with me?" Krillin offered. Bulma hesitantly took his hand, the unease in the pit of her stomach growing with each step she took away from the shore. Yamcha followed blindly, looking back to his friend still focused on the coastline.

Goku decided not to budge. Something felt out of place earlier in the day; something that he chose to let go considering that there was no obvious threat to justify it beyond Chichi's fury. Now, it returned nearly coincident with Bulma's fear. Looking back, "Who did you see?"

She did not want to face the unknown, only pivoting her head around to see him out of the corner of her eye, "I don't know. But he was dressed funny and he had something attached to his face," she paused, "and long, dark hair."

"That's odd," Yamcha commented, verifying their isolation in Goku's direction.

After moment, the most experienced spoke, concerned now that Bulma may have fallen ill, "I think it would be best if we all go inside."

"Yes, sensei." Goku affirmed, his eyes still transfixed.

They beelined back to the refuge of the windowed room, accepting Chichi's cooking as a substitute for playing in the sand. The stern woman eyed the returning delinquents and unnervingly pale Bulma with an intolerant stare, "What's wrong with you?"

"It's nothing," Roshi cooed with all his charisma, forgetting that it never really worked on Chichi, "I think Bulma needs to lie down. She was in the sun for too long."

That explanation sufficed long enough to turn herself on the boys, "Get cleaned up. I won't have dirty hooligans eating at my table."

"Yes ma'am," was the unison reply.

The dinner was chatty as could be. Mika managed to climb out of her chair long enough to put some clothes on and seat herself properly. As she had done for the past three years, she made something for Chichi as a thank you from Roshi. Yamcha's escort sat prettily to his side and the rest sort of scattered around the long, low table.

"So, she finally makes an appearance," the cook appealed, looking up at the wave of sickly blonde in the doorway.

"Bulma, you look awful," Mika placed her chopsticks down and began to get up before she was halted by a reassuring reply.

"I'm fine," the woman brushed a hand over her freshly cleaned face, "I must have just drunk too much before going out, so don't fuss. It won't happen again."

She meandered over the side between Yamcha and Goku. In the moment, it no longer mattered that she had issues with her ex as she calmly seated herself with a view toward the foreboding beach. Bulma could not for the life of her understand why the person frightened her so other than he looked so strange. The scientist did not often react impulsively to a situation, rationally thinking through it until an answer revealed itself. In this case, she had to convince her brain that this must have been some heat-induced delusion, and even if this was fallacious, she had the best protection surrounding her. That alone should have been adequate consolation for her nerves. Still, all she could think about now was the underlying gut thought that they were being watched. That something was terribly wrong. Her eyes darted around the panels and along the sand dunes beyond.

"Are you not hungry?"

Distracted, she picked up her chopsticks, muttered her thanks and began fidgeting with the food closest to her, occasionally glancing back out in search for what she knew to be there. Then, as though her prayer was alert on catching what it was that claimed her sanity, the dark haze once again peered over the sand pile in front of her. Halting all movement, a vegetable halfway into her mouth, the woman had to be sure that the image was not another hallucination. Her foot not so subtly kicked at a neighbor's shin.

"Ow," feigned her friend as Goku looked over to a frozen Bulma. All conversation ceased as the rest of the party finally gathered her unease followed by slow turning of heads to the direction she was focused on. The dark figure nudged up from the dune and around the side.

Within that instant, all of the cheery activity was but a memory as every defending member of the group leaped out the side entry and surrounded the now unoccupied dune.

"Who was that!" Chichi demanded from the frame.

"I don't know."

It did not take long to answer, however, as the male appeared within a meter of the tallest of them. Long hollow features, tall muscular physique and a serious countenance punctured the conversation, all directed at Goku.

Rochi's favored student turned to face him at eye level, a familiarity seemed to hold both silent for a moment. Almost challenging.

"Who are you?"

The intruder refused to answer, instead remained vigilant, evaluating his opponent.

Another moment of silence passed, "Answer me!"

The response was quick, harsh, and incoherent. Goku shifted his line of vision slightly to Krillin, who shaking his head was unsure of what he heard.

The male took a step in the process of saying something similar, perhaps repeating the phrase. Apprehension reverberated around the circle as their hearts quickened from the threat. It was uncertain whether this action was sensed by the individual too, for it only fueled the aggressive response as he took another step and then another, backing the tall fighter up until he no longer felt comfortable with how close he was to the house.

"Chichi, Bulma," he motioned, "Take the others off of the island. I don't like this."

The two women stepped into the living room to withdraw out another exit, when the felonious perpetrator slugged passed his target and to the cutch. The movement was so quick that the rest had little chance to follow before the bulky figure blocked the front entry completely. Immediately, the fiery brunette stood between the other women and the male protectively as she deflected a forearm past her face and into the frame by her side. Mika fell back screaming against her unnamed house guest, who promptly fainted in the middle of the room. Chichi ducked down, grabbing Bulma as she went, but not quickly enough to grab her son.

Another jumbled demand sliced the air as the enemy jerked the boy up by the collar to shoulder height.

"NO!" Gohan's mother cried as she flung off the doorframe with a well intended palm to the back of the offender's neck. An arm reached out to her side before she reached him though, slamming the fragile woman against one of the window panels.

Everyone tensed. The male stepped back farther away from the door, now seemingly comparing what he saw in the little boy yelping frantically and the target he obviously came to interrogate. After a moment, his eyes squinted, an enraged grimace engulfing his long face. Another sharp toned phrase jolted the group.

"Let him go. We can talk this out," Goku tried to speak as calmly as he could while at the same time surveying his chances of separating the two forcefully if necessary. His comment was only responded with a shorter bark, a shaking of the collar to emphasize his anger. A snap in the father's gut screamed out his sense of alarm, "I don't want to hurt you!"

The challenge was met almost as though he was trying to provoke it, tossing the child violently aside and slamming into his opponent before the others had any opportunity to react. Goku skid into the sand dune behind him with a powerful thud, immediately to his feet again and back at unidentified male. He made painful contact with his torso first, then jaw; however, managed to only force the other back a step and not bow or turn as he expected. Knuckles popped decisively with recognition of the hard plate covering the target's chest. The male quickly grabbed his shoulder, tunneling strong fingers down through the ginger cloth and into his skin while a flat palm attempted to excise his rib cage. A staggering cough rumbled out, Goku's body hurled away while still attached by his upper arm.

Tien seized a piece of dense drift wood decoratively placed by the porch step, turning the side at the taller foe. The offender intuitively caught wind of it before Tien could rap his skull, letting go of his objective to repel the object and promptly, wordlessly slug the military man in the upper sternum. Just in time to take his shorter sibling by the scalp and knee him swiftly in the side.

A moment of silence followed. Krillin and Yamcha, ready to enter the struggle, looked to each other with the simultaneous thought that they were next to be taken out.

Roshi beat them to the punch, calming stepping forward, an insulted gestured huffed in a manner rarely viewed by the spectator, "You do not come to my island and attack others without provocation. Now, leave or I will force you out."

The intruder twitched, another guttural response filling the space between them. Roshi took this as a no, hunching down with hands in a narrow line, and charged. Although small and aged, the sensei had his own set of tricks he chose to play, aiming at the opponent's ankles instead of his well protected trunk. His adversary was stealthy, but failed to react, eventually tripping down on one knee. A well placed blow to his joint was all Roshi required to finally sucker the base of his wrist against the underside of the male's nose. The opponent swiped out with a hand as the old man jumped back out of harms way, signaling for his student and guests to finally make their advance.

Krillin resolutely motioned behind him, attempting another cut to the base of the male's neck, using Yamcha's front as a decoy. The kick would have issued contact, had the male not bent down to push forward on his injured leg. A brutal surge rushed forth on the bait, long arms reaching outward to ram fists into the athlete's stomach and throat before he could reply. Stomping down on his extended foot, the small monk skittered back before another low arm swiveled around to meet his side.

The bloodied male stood then, eyes shifting back and forth at the group now half battered. Goku sat observing in horror from the side lines at what just transpired, still regaining his breath and holding a bleeding shoulder socket. Gradually, an internal vague emotion began to click into place; a feeling he almost forgot existed since he was very small. He kept telling himself that all he needed to do was incapacitate the villain, but each attack seemed to gather a more vengeful judgment on the unknown assailant who out of nowhere decided that this was a good day to seek murder.

From the opposite end of Goku's sight, Bulma peeked a shaky head out of the doorway. Concern filled her eyes as she assessed the damage over such a short duration, the back of her fear now to her. Taking this good fortune, she jerked her sight to the small boy hyperventilating in the sand farther from the scene.

"Gohan," she hissed as quietly as she could while creeping out of the building. The child at first did not hear her, his face flushed and wide-eyed. She tried again, noting that the boat was not far beyond him; an escape was still possible. Feebly, she erected herself, tip-toeing away from the trauma, her heart pounding at her throat. Trembling hands reached down to her bundle, ready to sprint before a shrill call came to her. Turning, she caught the angered male stalking in her direction, adrenaline pumping wildly as she whirled the child into her arms and booked it up the sand. She wished she was fast enough, strong enough to protect them both, the mini-yacht enlarging at an inch-like pace. Unseeing though, she felt the large hand at her mid-rift thrusting her back to the ground, and she gave a blood curdling scream.

She did not want to die.

This must have been the broken straw. Before she could wrangle herself out of the terror's arms, she was instantly set free with by gust of power she never felt before. Without looking back, the petite woman again seized her close friend's son and tried for the boat once more. Sound left her. She untangled the rope, setting the now wailing boy onto the deck below and jumped for the engine within the floor. The motor surged far less vigorously than she would have preferred, pushing them out to deeper waters.

It was not until she was nearly half way to the other side and her heartbeat slowed enough to process that they were no longer being chased, did she turn the engine off and glance back at the island. There, in the whirling sand, sat her friend heaving on bent knees over an unmoving object. She did not have to guess as to his expression.

She screamed out, "Goku!"


	3. Renegade

**AN: I don't own anything!** Happy reading:)

**Chapter 2: Renegade**

He looked intently into the level eyes of another male. The counterpart, at least distantly related, glared back with the youthful resilience that articulated all unspoken tension carried between them. The stare down was a challenge according to the onlooker. Neither was willing to allow the other to speak or pass or raise a hand in negotiation.

In a single fluid motion, both individuals were at each others throat. A feral sense seemed to cloud their judgment as they lashed out at one another with brutal ferocity. One could identify the anger as bloodlust or vengeance for some unknown wrong, although it was uncertain who exactly was at fault and why brethren would bother with such superfluous acts when they themselves now were so rare.

Creeping to the viewer came the memory of a stale lesson echoing from the throat of another enemy. Albeit one hated the other, their duel was stalemate. Useless. And the vision saddened him unexpectedly for how true it was that these brothers fought to the death; the face of his own comrade now twisted and dead in the sand. Such an injustice.

_Such a waste._

* * *

"Kakkarot!"

Vegeta woke with a start, only to numbly acquire where he was again. The stone niche was chilly, but it afforded some shelter from a massive dust storm colliding overheard. This vantage also allowed him excellent surveillance during the aftermath, in which the small saiyan was assigned to vigilantly maintain. He must have dozed. Shifting to his side, the view of the burning hinterland was as symbolic to his dampened sense as the permeating odor of sulphur was to his to nostrils. A charred, narrow spire several tens of meters high limped upward behind the bulky ash-ridden smoke. He pressed his lips in a grim line.

This purge protocol was like all of the most recent ones charged to him and his crew. Sh' imquem, in the native tongue, was not the least of a series of small planets along the outskirts of the Omega Sector. This one in particular was a water planet with a rich biota coincident with an ample atmospheric reservoir of oxygen, nitrogen, and other light metals that were considered so vital to the Planet Trade's endeavors. There was an added perk too in a series of heavy ore bodies discovered during the auxiliary survey, in effect dooming the rudimentary 'intelligent' life for assimilation. Likely, the planet would be mined to waste along with any other planetoids in the solar system; shipments all directed back to the other bases in close proximity. After all, there was a real war to feed.

For this reason, their group was smaller than normal. Thirteen thousand ground infantry marched after the first bombs from the 'Shell' installment settled. The command protocol was on par. Purge only the cities. Leave the biota otherwise alone for later harvest.

As ever, they were efficient.

Ahead of schedule, in fact.

Vegeta closed his eyes again and sighed. It had been nearly half of a cycle since Radditz parted the threesome on his clandestine mission. Nappa stayed, much to his relief, as the remaining pair continued protocols among the higher ranked fleet. The transfer, although ephemeral toward their permanent contract under Nirrikii's watchful eye, would likely be a long term residence.

Their home for now was a moving barge, dubbed 'Tsayo' by the razukin fighter pilots after the A class commanding officer, and currently remained far above in orbit, patiently waiting for the return of its operatives. Vegeta never understood the razukin obsession of naming their ships. Like it would bring them luck or give some sense of belonging among the transient nature of their post. As though the real Tsayo even knew they existed any longer now that she was permanently incorporated into the mainframe to silently repeat commands into the network of electrical components surrounding her. He had the brief opportunity to visit her cage when he first arrived to the station, the embryonic-like fluid engulfing an expressionless stare. In a way, the machine housing her physical form was not so dissimilar to the regeneration tanks he prototyped so long ago. She was the next advancement for a line of powerful cruisers that would eventually accompany all Planet Trade fleets.

On one hand, Tsayo was revolutionary – some would even go as far as to claim the complete merger was progression equivalent to the first true cyborg dispatched two cycles prior. Organo-electronics was slowly becoming standard in all militia officials, razukin and otherwise. However, this invention also nearly rendered manual pilots obsolete, offering the choice to submit to the evolving media of their institution or find another trade. Thus, selected advanced pilots were prototyped to outfit the new technology, with or without their will.

Higher ranked military razukins treated their involvement in this new contribution to the intellectual platform within the Planet Trade as an assessment of their species' ultimate value. There were drawbacks, of course; one glaring liability that if the ship were ever attacked, killing the pilot could simplify the process of destroying the barge. Backup systems were emplaced to involuntarily trigger and maintain autonomously until a replacement was inducted. High security surrounded the hull casing of her tiny dome, reinforced by blockades and security panels only the most highly privy had access to.

Vegeta secretly pitied her for other, more personal reasons. He understood the choice pilots like Tsayo had to make in order to achieve this 'honor.' Innovation never came without a price, and much like the cyborgs, once augmented they would never know true consciousness again. And like all implants commissioned for the workforce enabling the Planet Trade to continue its function, this was simply another more extreme manifestation of that control.

Narrow fingers rubbed his temples absently as he cued his scouter for a report. Mutely, it responded and a flush of information surged forth. Vegeta's own augmentations allowed for the information to mentally surface rather than scrolling rapidly down the thin screen left empty for his eye. The usefulness of his own testing was in vein now that he was no longer needed for the purposes his superiors originally sought him for. As depressing as this notion was, they were more than willing to force him to live with it in the rungs from where his kind crept. First snatched and shielded from it as a child, he was now assigned responsibility for it as an adult. At least he was keeper for those closest to him and even that was becoming more difficult by the cycle. Their numbers were dwindling and Vegeta, although never accepting it, understood that this was the way it would be.

There is no arguing with the authority.

"Operative, report."

The metallic sound from the scouter was too loud for his ear drum and he signaled to reduce the volume. Looking back down below the smoking horizon, "Nothing to show, pilot. Space clear."

"Report to central base. Your sector is classified for return."

He chose not to disengage as the command officer blipped out of range and onto the next team leader. Instead, he leaned down by his side for his weapon and swept a final scan over the territory. He would have preferred not to carry anything for this protocol as the shell installment adequately handled the majority of the threat feared to be left over. In a sneer, he considered that Tsayo's command over did it on the fire power with this one. It was a testing mission. That was all.

The trek was a long walk from his station on the opposite side of the clearing province. The citadel was the largest occupancy on the planet, quickly dealt with and now quietly burning to the ground. The creatures fated for extermination were pathetically juvenile-like both physiologically and intellectually. Small and awkward appearing, they had a much louder bark than any bite could afford. The habitation was simple stone work and warped organic thatching. Crudely formed domes barely his shoulder height, Vegeta thought briefly in his few encounters that he was killing a pet more anything he could remotely relate to. Over his life, he began to carry this view openly with much of the clades he was often involved with.

But who was he to decide what was worthy to live or die? He was merely the messenger. And with that premise, his apathy grew to concern himself only in protecting those charged to him.

A fizzing sound echoed through his scouter and made contact with his eardrum, a vague familiar voice fluctuating in and out of the receiver. Vegeta stopped on his path long enough to listen carefully if the command pilot was issuing another order across the group. The garble ceased and then returned, this time with better function.

"What is this!"

He backed up against an adjoining wall engulfed with shadow, his hand almost at the ear piece as though pressing the equipment would further aide in its reception. The voice sounded like Radditz, flustered and somewhat panicked. The accusation was broken, but Vegeta could make it out with the follow up of a dialect unfamiliar to him. There was an individual speaking with a faint but frantic tone while some other closer source was squealing excitedly. The dialog seemed questioning and hostile.

"Have you betrayed us?"

That was obviously not what the other wanted to hear as the unknown adversary's tone sharpened heatedly. A familiar sense in the saiyan's gut tightened and he was cognizant that it only meant trouble for his comrade.

Suddenly, shuffling filled his head for several seconds followed by a loud cracking sound. Vegeta cringed, nearly jerking the ear piece off from the unexpected clarity of the instrument. Silence penetrated afterward long enough for him to regain his wits and think logically about what he could actually be eavesdropping upon. The mission was too far away to gain real-time access to the scene, so he could only guess that the message was somehow tardily relayed. Slowing his breath, the clamor continued blindly without him. A cry came out dimly from beyond. A terror-filled scream soon after. From there, the shouts continued accompanied with audible blows. The wind was knocked out of someone as both stood momentarily with heaving chests only to reconvene with another fiery lash out. Finally, a grand crash buckled down to the ground, a strangled response and a short, strident snap.

Silence followed so long that Vegeta could swear he could catch the whishing sound of wind or water nearby. His eyes widened subtly in the dark as the message went dead, a sign that the battery was either no longer connected or no longer functional. He was willing to consider the latter possibility.

With shortened breath, Vegeta leaped from the wall and bolted toward his post. Sprinting up the hill side as a perceived short cut, a gust of smoke and dust impacted his vision enough to nearly knock him off balance. Slowly, a sense of unexplained, unwarranted panic began to engulf his mind, a racing plan forming to counteract the event that just transpired. He knew this would happen. He knew it when he let Radditz go that they were sending him to his death. He promised to not let this happen again, and seemingly he was failing. Again, like so many times before.

Internal berating could only last so long as the saiyan captain had to come to terms with what to do. Leaving would jeopardize his post and probably involve disciplinary action. It would likely be far more severe than the last. That sort of repetitious insubordination was the exact reason why Freeza commissioned him to Nirrikii anyway. It was no secret that the tsiru warlord would have just assumed get rid of him if it were not his cousin's continued interest. He was a growing liability and he knew it. And his punishment was slowly watching his kind die before him; the representative always being the last to go.

The decision was made before he ever reached command station. Slowing down to a controlled walk, Vegeta composed his rising anger and fear under an expertly placed veil. Nodding to the few razukin officers passing on their respective returns, he turned the corner toward the large convoy ship and began searching for the only other who could relate.

_Nappa_!

The thought boomed more assertively than he intended, but it got the urgency across. Stilling himself near the entrance, he scanned around for the tall, bulky soldier. He was on the protocol as well and therefore seemed reasonable that he would be called back to the same convoy. After a moment, he reissued the thought, more politely this time.

Off in the distance, around the curved silver hull and masked by the thin blanket of smoke, Vegeta could pinpoint the figure looming high above the rest. The bald male stood patiently in a line for return, stretching a little and staring off in another direction. It was obvious that he was unaware of the call twice given. In a huff, the superior opened a com link directly to him, "Nappa, do you ever listen?"

The wide saiyan jerked to Vegeta's line of sight, a sort of deer-in-the-headlight expression gracing his masculine features, "Did you call?"

He closed his eyes, clenching his jaw with draining tolerance. Nappa was as dumb as he was strong, which in some situations was beneficial. This was not one of those times.

_Something happened._

The lower class saiyan paused unsure if the statement was a thought or something issued through the scouter. Vegeta did not often send messages privately unless he wished to convey something he did not want others to hear. He took a free hand and scratched his temple before replying, "What do you mean?"

Perhaps he should do this alone. _We leave now_.

Both of them had a long weary day, which of course further slowed his fellow comrade's uptake on the situation, "Well, we're returning to Tsayo now. Is that what you mean?"

Why could Freeza not have sent Nappa? Radditz was always on the ball.

"We leave now."

The dawning realization that this was not an ordinary command hit him finally, "But Captain, we are not authorized-"

Vegeta returned with a glare emphasizing his warning that could be felt even with the distance held between them. It was not a good idea to annoy the smaller saiyan, and the choices presented before him were clear. So were his loyalties. Without another word, Nappa backed away from the line and approached his superior, a stony resolute expression flashing in his eyes, "Where to?"

* * *

"I don't know how to explain it, but I just have this really strange ache in my stomach, Bulma."

The small woman played with a lock of her blonde hair, curling it loosely around an index finger before letting it fall limply against her chin. Clamping her lower lip between her teeth, concern knit brows followed as she leaned toward the younger man sitting across from her, "Goku, you know, this has been going on for nearly a month. Have you thought of talking to anybody about this?"

"What is there to talk about? I don't know why this is happening, only that I know in the past it usually means something bad."

"Well, the last month hasn't exactly been easy. I mean that man tried to kill you. All of us. Are you sure this isn't stress resulting from that?"

He sighed in resignation; something her usually confident, optimistic friend did not often do. The prior month had been difficult, the onset of which was supposed to be a friendly get-together between old sparring comrades. Annual duels marked their innocent reunion, while still reaffirming their seemingly divergent lives. The only tie for most of them anymore was the one unlikely character currently helping him through this dilemma, and who always came to the rescue with the endless supply of technology and money weld from her fingertips.

The small woman sat back again and fidgeted with her drink. She could not lie in that she also felt a similar pang of worry engulf her from the moment she saw the mysterious man. After the incident at Kame House, she placed several well-timed phone calls to some trusted friends at the Osaka police headquarters, careful not to expose where she was at the time of the confrontation. The officers would handle the investigation and give her ample opportunity to identify the individual with her own team. It just seemed so strange that anyone would desire to harm Goku that it warranted critical evaluation of the person's origins. Too bad the person was no longer alive to question and his records were all but absent from the available databases.

"It just didn't seem right, that's all," he raised a hand to the base of his scalp trying to remember the awkward details of the event, "The words were so foreign, but they - they seemed familiar somehow."

"Did you understand any of it?"

"No," Goku scrunched his eyes shut, "But, I don't know. It was almost like he was trying to reach out to me. Explain something."

"By trying to kill you," her words were incredulous. The male appeared excessively aggressive, which was not too inconceivable considering her private group of friends all seemed to be derived from some myriad of violent background. From military to outlaw like behavior, those sorts of professions tended to bring the more savage out of anyone if given the right conditions in the moment.

Guilt was thick in his throat when he finally answered, "Actually Bulma, the longer I think about it, the more I have to accept that perhaps he wasn't really trying to hurt us."

_What?_ The thought was nearly audible as she twitched up to her friend. After a moment of silence, her features conceded to a more likely reason for his persistent logic. In all of the time she knew her childhood companion, Goku was never the type of person to attack without clear motive. And even then, defending others was never in the excess to cause permanent damage. However, back on the island, something happened that triggered the feral response she and the others never witnessed before. The gentile calm character she always knew went missing in full stride as he pushed passed his moral code and broke the adversary's neck. He guaranteed that the other did not get back up, "Goku, you can't blame yourself. You were defending Gohan and me."

Glancing through thick chocolate brows, the perceived fault contradicted his words, "I know."

"Well," she paused delicately in effort to transfer the subject onto something more productive, "What about the thing on his face? You took it off on the island and I never got to see it."

"Oh, that's right," perking up slightly, he nodded. By her suggestion, they all figured that it would be better if the police did not confiscate it before the engineer had a chance to determine its function. Even Tien was at a loss as to what it was, "I'm sorry, Bulma, but I forgot to bring it for you."

She waved dismissively, "That's alright, I can get it next month when I come out to visit. Are Tien and Chaozu still staying with you?"

Affirming, "Chi's getting a little tired of the company, but I thought it would better to have others close after something like this. Tien had the extended leave available and his brother isn't doing anything for the summer…"

"Family always comes first, ne?"

The familiar smile returned, much to her relief that it had not permanently disappeared, "Yeah and besides, it's not often I get to see them anymore. It's good for Gohan to associate with others. He's so afraid of everything, you know."

"Oh, I wouldn't call it afraid," she scoffed playfully, knowing full well where the apprehension stemmed from, "Just timid."

"Heh, Chi doesn't agree with training him at such an early age."

"Chichi doesn't agree to much these days. But that's what a mother is – she's protective and that's her right."

Shrugging, "I just wish she could understand. Working with Grandpa was such a wonderful experience."

"Well, from what I hear, you weren't like Gohan at that age," reminiscing back to when they met was always humorous; Guko standing haughtily on the sidelines of his first tourney victory. He was just over ten and yet managed to worm his way passed the juvenile finals and into an adult ring. The local tabloids titled their story as the illegal sport scandal of the year, allowing someone that young to go up against people well twice his age. Worse yet he won, albeit was disallowed credit for the fight due to the surfacing issue. And although Roshi and his sensei at the time fervidly scolded him for the action openly, she could even tell that they secretly were ecstatic that he pulled it off, "I remember all of the stories he and Roshi told me, before he passed, how rowdy and belligerent you were."

"I needed guidance," he agreed, "He offered that to me."

"Still, guidance comes in different shades. If you want to seek Chichi's approval so badly, then just go slow and make sure he does his school work. I don't want to get a call from a hysterical woman about how he is going to turn into another troublemaker like all of you boys."

The low chuckle that responded furthered her point as Goku finally nodded at her instruction. Bulma was always the one to look for with any kind of advice. Although never married and starting her early thirties, she still handled herself with the conscience of someone far more experienced. Confusing as it was, she normally carried a dry sarcasm and cynicism that often completely masked her heightened sense of judgment. She also had a temper when she wished to express it, leveling the playing field with respect to her verbal sparring. She was the only person he knew who could nail a fighter to the ground without so much as lifting a finger in their direction.

"Go back to your wife and friends." Now that she seemingly calmed his nerves enough to return to her work, the small blonde lifted herself from the seat, taking her coffee cup as she went. The Kyoto corner was hectic, but not nearly as bad as her usual stops. Peering down to her friend with his tall glass of water, she beamed a perfect smile and held up two fingers in a V, "Tell them I said hi and that I promise I'll make it this time next month."

Waving back, he watched her depart. Bulma Briefs was also the busiest person he knew, yet like all cherished friends, understood when to take a break to help another.

Slowly though, with her blurring image as it turned the corner, he could not help but allow the worry to settle again, despite all of her reassurance. Something was looming. Waiting. And with each day, it was growing as though it was traveling to him from depths of his gut to the forefront of his mind. He was silly to deny it, for this sort of premonition never failed before. And with that, he could only congeal his resolution to return home and focus on the tasks at hand.

* * *

Its eyes remained closed in the dark. A flat chin rested benevolently on the end of the pedestal positioned for it, and the tsiru snorted an irritated sigh into the frigid quarters. Blank panels surrounded it, each showcasing the enormity of the universe beyond so much so that their speed had little effect on shifting the position of each sparkling dot. It took so long to get a sufficient velocity, with nothing to do in the mean except contemplate the future awaiting on the other side. Freeza hated traveling.

Nearly ten cycles passed since the informant left and they were still sifting through the damage. All of the high staked plans Freeza and Nirrikii developed together fell deafeningly through the floor, for which the Overseers were upon them immediately, questioning their intentions and motives for concealing the deals made behind the authority's back. As risky as the venture was, the peace alliance with the Omega Sector would not have bowed well even if it had succeeded, albeit with far less drastic ramifications. Nirrikii's sudden apathy to the situation and finger pointing to Freeza's involvement and insistence of keeping Raylin as the prized 'Trade Secret' only exacerbated matters. And when she turned defector, taking with her the most prized possession left in the warlord's care, there was nowhere the tsiru could hide that would not evade the inevitable. For a moment, the younger cousin pondered again how much the older really had all of this planned out. It needled the other into the position to take the fall; a clever arrangement to advance in authority without ever needing to duel the opposition directly.

Benefit of the doubt was kept for the naïve and foolhardy.

Raylin's protégé, and the one additional sore spot between the cousins that had Freeza convinced was the deal breaker to its demise, only now sat comfortably on his way to Nirrikii's jurisdiction. If Freeza had the choice, the lesser plan would have been eliminated like he should have been when the project failed. But, Nirrikii was also mellifluous with its ability to articulate the utter failure and termination of one arrangement while still upholding the similar potential of another. _With_ support. Freeza vehemently disagreed, having watched on its own terms the wavering loyalties with each successive blow to the saiyan's conscience. With no power left though, words fell on stony ears, and instead it was forced to deal with the ever volatile reactions of the low class officer for things that were not of its control but easily placed with the blame. With this in mind however, Vegeta was becoming the focus of both a good whipping boy when its cousin did something out of line as well as an effective grunt worker to keep him busy while the higher ranked figured out what to do with him. Perhaps Nirrikii had a point when it offered to reeducate the officer as an attempt to salvage something of the endeavor.

None of this was helping the tsiru now. Things were getting rough. Too rough. And now the warlord was being called into attention for the rash of invasions conspicuously occurring solely along Nirrikii's border. At first the cousin sniffed off all involvement for the seemingly directed assaults as poor luck and planning on the other's part, but was swiftly rebuked and ordered to report. It was not Freeza's fault Nirrikii was gaining so many enemies, for it had little authority left to command let alone arrange a coup d'état against the powerhouse. The thought provoked another snort and nipping growl. That was the only wish – to take back what was wrongfully, deviously removed from its grasp.

A beeping sound perked its attention and an eye twitched open. The icy iris flexed its pupil until focused, turning toward the sense of intrusion. There was clear instruction to not be disturbed.

The door slid open after the fifth monotone beep, a deep smooth voice cutting through the silence, "Lord."

The naked brow for the other closed eye slant down, the set of steely teeth barring itself expressively, "Speak."

A pregnant pause filtered the conversation before the A class officer continued, knowing well not to anger his authority for fear he may actually lose something this time. Over the previous cycle, desperation to keep those around it in line was the forefront topic among the lower ranked. The knowledge that it was losing the struggle against its cousin, though, was something Zarbon understood to be kept strictly private, "There has been a report from Tsayo."

Both eyes opened, now focused straight forward. After a moment, the chin left the podium, its spine arching gracefully to an upright position from the curved chair, "Continue."

"The subordinate turned renegade. He took another with him along with two sphee ships after the mission on Sh' imquem. We are tracking a trajectory currently."

"When did this happen?" A severe glare turned on the subordinate.

"Recently, Lord. We received the report almost immediately after they left."

_He took the orbs because he knew they would be faster_.

A decisive thump of its tail spoke volumes for what Freeza was not willing to exude. It knew this would happen eventually. Vegeta exhibited signs long before either one of them could ensure his stability. But, Nirrikii failed to listen much like Freeza failed to acknowledge Raylin's glaring deficiencies and now there was an uncontrolled, unchecked informant running from his responsibility. If this was not taken care of, the next failure and any damage caused would likely fall on the warlord's shoulders again. The accusation and punishment would be more than it was willing to bear without retaliation. Another thump cracked the floor.

The decision was made before the tsiru fully processed the plan. Removing itself from the center stage in the murky room, the stalking diminutive figure encroached on the light near the entrance from where Zarbon initiated the disturbance. Stark white light refracted against its smooth skin such that the blackened half in shadow almost glowed on its own. Barred needle teeth enclosed tightly around the hide, for which no smile met its deadly intentions as it quickly, almost wispily uttered, "This ends here."

* * *

AN: OK, just to help you out, Freeza and Nirrikii are dueling cousins, much like the rest of the Cold family in the series. I chose to create Nirrikii for several reasons for _Vignettes_ and if you would like to know more about her/it, feel free to check the story out. I make Freeza an 'it' because as hermaphrodites, it is both male and female. In the series, he/it was asexual, but in reality there are no multicellular organisms known that are asexual because asexual fission is just not possible with the size of the genomes associated with eukaryotes and those sorts of organisms, which is why sex was invented in the first place. So, I refer to it as a he in some cases like Nirrikii is a she because as hermaphrodites they can chose to be one more than the other. Anyway, enough of the biology lesson, so **review**. Happy reading and eat a cookie! 


	4. Bloodlust

**AN: I don't own anything! Happy Reading and as always please please please REVEW!**

**Chapter 3: Bloodlust**

It was a precarious opportunistic one shot that would most likely end his life when they were caught. Vegeta no longer cared. He stopped caring long ago and now only centered himself on the notion to protect the integrity and dignity of the last of his kind before they were effortlessly swept to the wayside for more lucrative endeavors. They deserved better than this for everything they had done.

Hacking into Tsayo's command systems and gaining access to the docking bay was disturbingly easy. Taking out the guardsmen securing the dock was even simpler. It shocked Vegeta that such advanced technology was so naturally surpassed, and he half wondered in the moment if the Planet Trade was even aware of the ship's elementary faults. Now on the other hand, removing the homing beacon attached to the pod mainframe was much more difficult and to be honest, Vegeta was unsure of his abilities with that one. Since he was removed from the group associated to guard and oversee installment of the chips several cycles prior, the technology had logically been refined. He was fortunate enough to steal and augment one of them for Radditz's ship before they departed, since it was a far older model, and this alone allowed him to easily locate his comrade.

The coordinates reflected an area that appeared unmapped, which made little sense to the tactical officer as he examined his and Nappa's course toward the planet. The location was smack in the middle of Freeza's territory. There was little reason to overlook it unless this was some kind of unknown base.

Slowing their speed once within visible range of the blue marble and its crystal dot, the confused expression intensified. Vocalization of his thoughts would be taken over by the less articulate of the pair, "Are you sure this is the right place, Captain? It looks inhabited."

"Well, of course it's inhabited, Nappa," he had to keep the irritated tone in check, "Radditz didn't kill himself."

"You think it's a base?"

"I don't know. Either way, it would not be suggestive to open a link. Let's land at the signal and plan from there."

"Clear."

The two silver orbs made a swift descent into the atmosphere as though the metal hulls were magnetized and seeking their opposite poles. A stark line marked the sun's path across the sapphire and emerald landscape, interspersed with pallid swirls whimsically drifting high above. Just beyond the razor sign of daylight, both of the officers could spot a sea of light within the darkness.

Vegeta issued a command to the computer database for an energy signal of the inhabitants. A moment passed with a mute return, and he quirked a brow from the results before sending word to the other, "This is a razukin planet."

"I thought the database didn't have any information."

"It didn't," he immediately replied, "The energy reading is on par, though. Keep attention for military outposts. This could be a testing facility."

Their destination was far within the light, thankfully. A small island projected itself around a vast mass of blue Vegeta could only guess was water. The adjoining continent wrapped around the globe and into darkness again, far less illumination emanating from the region. Focusing on the source of their search, the saiyan issued another command to locate the pod and any other electronic output in case they might be near a city. To his relief, there was little within the vicinity of the ship, although several large sources sprawled to the north and east. Their objective lied within a patch of dark green near the southern shore, obstacles in the form of tall, green spires packed densely together with rigid narrow tops in their direction. The unusual objects gave the impression of deflective weapons from their altitude more than the flexible creatures they actually were. Vegeta could already see the landing strip in his mind, groaning with an unappreciative thought that his subordinate could not think of a better place to hide his equipment, "Try not to crash this thing, Nappa. We need to return these intact."

Landing was as rough as he imagined it would be, scraping of the jagged spires Vegeta could vaguely make out softer, smaller offshoots within the green he saw from above, now overprinting deep auburn bark. He wished to avoid falling like a meteor, slowing the aircraft quickly enough to halt impact before it made contact with the base of one of the enormous trunks. Nappa, however, was not so nimble and thunder echoed beyond the captain's transport heralding the newly formed crater.

Physically unplugging himself from the sphee and shutting the transport down with security measures, Vegeta straight away scanned for the location of the homing beacon. His course was closer than his comrade, now approaching in the distance. Allowing a moment to examine the bark more closely in the midst of waiting, he could feel the slight hum emanating from it, the ground beneath teaming with a resounding energy that was relaxing upon recognition.

"These are living," he murmured out loud, now appreciating the immensity of the trunk width several times larger than the diameter of his ship. They were mature too from the sense, the community all swaying harmoniously in response to the soft wind far above. The light was dim, filtered green permeating Vegeta's sight as he climbed over a root toward his objective. Radditz was a decent pilot when he desired to be, and in this case he rightly chose a remote location to hide out as the tall organisms undoubtedly provided shadow for any search signals from within the nearby cities. There was an open shore beyond the line of sessile creatures to one side, water lapping slowly into the thin layer of sand before him.

Sensing Nappa approach, he gave his order, "Keep watch. I'm going to investigate the ship."

Wordlessly, he commanded the ship system to override voice interpretive demands and unlock according to his rank. Radditz's sphee was much older than the ones they stole, and showed its sign of aging. Whereby the newer models actually reflected the orb-like quality of liquid metal, his was faceted and encased a tiny porthole for viewing. The forest already seemed to take in the new resident fondly, lichen consuming the north facing side, needle leaves creating a pillow around it.

His ideas were clear though, and did not benefit the beings' new friend. Download the information and destroy the ship in case anyone were to find it again. Crawling inside, Vegeta positioned himself comfortably before initiating the system more directly. Feeling for the plugs, he inserted the set of wires into the base of his neck and allowed the ship to take control momentarily with introductions. His override gave access without having to hack into the codes, and immediately a set of prompts revealed themselves.

Ready to work, Vegeta leaned in with concentration as a set of files were presented before him both physically and mentally. Prompts scrolled downward in an endless cascade of memoirs posting for as long as Radditz was commissioned the ship. Vegeta and Nappa both lost theirs when service was transferred out of Freeza's jurisdiction, but even still their logs were not nearly so well updated. Radditz, it seemed, was in some manner a writer. Usually this quality was an irritation to the superior as he would sometimes watch with remote fascination his comrade actually reminisce on the missions they reported to. However, in the moment, Vegeta could see the value of the tool to figure out exactly why he was sent here.

"Where would you keep it?" Vegeta cursed under his breath, filtering down the list. Radditz was also clever in the way he kept his files. He chose not to date them as he was not fond of others reading his very personal entries. Instead, as the younger saiyan deciphered, he titled each chronicle by location centered from where Vegetasei would have been and a seemingly random symbol to identify the general subject. All of them were in saiyanese and usually associated with some aspect or word mentioning the military. Vegeta knew the affinity of most of these symbols, only having been taught minor blips in conversations with the veterans. Generally, they referred to death, honor, charity, militia, etc.; all of these he could identify as he went along.

Stopping though, Vegeta ran across a symbol he did not recognize. A horizontal line arched up on one side and elegantly held a cantered sharp stroke pointed downward like a rod into the ground. For a moment, the small saiyan chewed on his cheek before commanding over at his comrade, "Nappa. Come here."

The taller elder-by-comparison nudged over from his post where he was warily observing for prowlers in the forest. At an angle, he could only see a portion of the screen as Vegeta quickly pointed at it with quiet resolution, "What is this symbol?"

He shifted himself in the tiny pod to see it, pursing his lips to come up with an adequate translation, "Nayeu. Uh, like mother and child," he glanced over to the bemused expression he rarely had the opportunity to see. Vegeta was always composed, "It means family."

_Now that's just odd_, he involuntarily thought. Turning to Nappa, "He had a family?"

"Well, of course. We all had family once."

He turned back toward the screen as if to take a moment to figure out what to do. Nodding that the explanation sufficed, he motioned for the subordinate to return to his post before he dared open it. In some ways, he hated disrespecting his only soldiers' privacy, but he had unsatisfactory choice at this point in the game.

Initiating the file, he unencrypted it, grateful that Radditz at least had the decency to write the journal in a more neutral language. The file was lengthy, but explanatory enough, opening with a date, location, and mission log before summarizing his narrative:

_Log Entry - - 2985.6_

_A half cycle has passed since I heard word from Sequi Risa that there are in fact others still out there. So many have turned their lives for a Razukin style, but not all as Vegeta would like to believe. I can't blame him personally, for I would have it difficult to take on the burdens of others in order to survive yet watch as they seemingly disregard that sacrifice. He neglects, however, that we all do what we must and that honor has many reflections and facets not always apparent from the one observing them._

_So, when I picked through the command protocols, I noticed one that stuck out of place. A name resurfaced from my childhood with a possible location of another unknown kin. Kakkarot, my youngest brother survived the bombardment either by accident or because like I, he was spared by luck and sent to this place later in life. I searched for all of my relatives after that fateful incursion with nothing until now, and I was so struck by the idea he may still be alive that I immediately requested the mission, forging the command protocol enough to pass even Vegeta's superiors and leave as soon as I could._

_In hindsight, I regret not informing my captain of this act. He is not the type of individual who would have agreed with this mission to retrieve a comrade he had no military ties to let alone affinities. He would have assumed this person as a defect like others we have tried to persuade into our cause and moved on. I hope he does not think less for this dishonorable trait, but family yields higher order ties that cannot be mistreated; something I am unsure he could ever relate to._

_My hope is to bring my brother back, if for nothing to show that it has not all ended. More than ever, I think we need this to continue on. There is little reason otherwise._

The captain sat back in the curved rest of his deceased comrade's chair in silent shock. He had no idea this was the impression he gave to those he tried his best to protect, but bubbling rage of perfidy was pushed down with an overwhelming sense of grief. It was a testament to his failure. Clenching his eyes shut, he disengaged the file, letting the ship die down on command.

"That must have been his brother," he muttered to himself, recalling the unknown dialect echoing in his memory. The dawning understanding brought about more questions than soothing answers, the foremost was why Radditz was killed if his sibling would have, should have welcomed him with open arms. The voice seemed so hesitant. Hostile and panicked. For a moment, he had to wonder how Radditz managed to locate his younger sibling, as his ship noted no energy signal remotely similar to a saiyan likeness. Perhaps the overpowering number of the razukin population could have masked the signal of a single individual, or maybe he was searching with something else. It was rumored that blood always held closer bonds no matter the distance relayed.

However, anyone willing to kill their kin must have flawed intentions. The flipped conscious warded itself for the consequences of this unfortunate brother for not having met Radditz's superior before hastily taking what was under his command. This act could not be allowed to slide without justice. He would at least give some dignity back to his officer before leaving the venture finished. Vegeta narrowed his vision suddenly with new purpose, signaling the ship for another homing beacon he knew would be within the scouter. If he could find the scouter, then likely he would be able to find anyone associated with the incident and maybe even Radditz if his day was auspicious. The ship beeped appreciatively with the good news as a malevolent smirk crossed the captain's face. This saiyan, who ever he was, was not smart.

* * *

"Moshi moshi," Chichi picked up the phone with a delicate hand. The kitchen was already beginning to fill with the aroma her family so adored. If there was any talent she chose to inherit, it was cooking. A large wok sat to her side, a cutting board behind her stacked with an assortment of cabbage and cucumber, rice in a neat pile near a pot ready for boil. Her space was impeccable and old fashioned like much of her personality. Dark brown hair was fastened into a bun, all strands carefully pulled away from her oval features. Thin brows were femininely trimmed to accentuate almond eyes currently focused on the small garden behind the house. She was expecting company to return with her husband today. The American pair, although the least seditious of the group, was beginning to wear out their welcome. Chichi was not one for long stays, usually giving friendship from a distance. Still, she liked them the best, offering their nicknames in exchange for their respectful manners, thus she could not argue with also gifting her space for their protection.

The voice picked up on the other line in a childish grin she could envision through the phone. As much as she disliked technology, her husband had even less capacity to conform than she, "Chi? Hey, it's Goku."

"Mm, I gathered," she retorted, "Where are you? Still on the mountain, I presume."

He nodded his affirmation, "Tien and I found the best spot to work with Gohan in. It's rather secluded from the main road so he'll have better focus."

"It's not too far away, I hope," Her tone deepened almost too harshly. She still had not given in to the idea, "I don't want him spending so much time getting there that it interferes with his homework. He has a dedicated schedule to keep."

"Oh, I know. It's a little more than a mile up the road, near the lake. I'd like to take him up here after dinner to see how he likes it."

She rolled her eyes in acceptance, "We'll see."

He took this response like it was a confirmation of sorts, his voice brightening with a lilt unmatched by anyone she ever met prior or since, "Great! We'll be home soon."

"Hai, the earlier the better. Yesterday, all of you were a horrible mess, so you need to make sure you clean up properly before supper."

"OK. See you."

As the phone clicked on the receiver, she gave a disappointed sigh and looked back through the window to her garden. He would never learn. Goku did his best with what he knew, but ever he was like a child with all things. Sometimes she grew tired of being the mother. But she loved him, in part, because of that innocence he portrayed. It was addictive when it was not irritating and obviously carried a marked effect in others. The room lifted in pallor when he entered, his positive nature influencing the outcome of everything he came in contact with. He was a rabbit foot. With that thought, a small smile formed around her seemingly permanent scowl as of late as she turned with knife in hand to continue her preparations. The cucumber sliced quickly along the edge of her fingertips.

Without giving notice, though, the room was not the same as it was before. Another figure loomed in the kitchen entry facing solemnly toward her, observing as she became lost in her activities again. Vegeta ensured that the homing beacon was accurate before entering the small domed home. This time, he also guaranteed that he did not make the same mistake that Radditz did in entering a confrontation unprepared. Understanding the language was a given and the first objective was locating someone who could relay enough information for him to get by. Sneaking to the roadside, he quickly discovered that the populous did have a form of militia, something that struck him as both odd and informative as he also observed the more unreceptive nature of the standard residents in the surrounding area. Terrestrial razukins, from all of his experience dealing with them, were typically passive to a fault. They did not believe in weapons or forcing an action, which was why in his opinion they were so easily overrun by the positions the Military Alliance held. Outbreak of the 'civil war' was only so far between the merchant trade and the military, not involving the bystanders often caught in the middle.

He found a space within the mountain to hide their ships and told Nappa to hold a post over it in case someone came along curious of the boisterous landing. Carefully identifying a sole officer standing by the road, he took him out efficiently, quietly and extracted the information he came seeking. The home was easily located along with an odor that for some unknown reason made his stomach rumble. He twitched a brow in subtle wonder at how such a physically lithe being could handle a sharp object so well.

Chichi pushed the cucumber aside and reached forward for the cabbage at the front of the island. Her peripheral vision caught the darkened misplaced hue and she nudged up to it. Her heart tightened as she froze in place. A small man, no taller than she stood cantered against her slim doorframe. His features were long and hollow, his coal eyes penetrating and unblinking amid the blank expression upon her. The most distinctive feature her mind allowed notice was a sharp widow's peak resting defiantly on his forehead, his jet hair unruly in the light. She dared not look anywhere else.

It was when he spoke that she thought her heart stopped, "Where is he?"

The tenor was deeper than she expected, smooth and seemingly fluent as alien as he appeared. She flashed her eyes across him for a moment, observing now the oddity of his clothing and the similarity to what Bulma described at Kame House. Only his were darker, black or perhaps navy; the contraption distressingly comparable to the one on the other man's face, but his left side instead of right. Taking her time, she pondered the appropriate answer, "Of whom do you speak?"

He blinked slowly and tilted his head down and to the side, still focused on her paling form. Repeating the question, his tone became even lower, "Where is he?"

"He is not here at the moment," her voice wavered just slightly, "You will have to wait."

"I do not have time for that," he narrowed, "He has something of mine," then taking a single step forward, "Perhaps you could help me with this matter?"

"Stay away from me!" For some reason, panic seized her as she sliced the knife across the edge of the table, the metallic ping resonating between them like a cast ward.

All she saw then was a confident smirk before he suddenly disappeared. She dropped her jaw, blinking and remembering to breathe before sifting around the room for the intruder. Something was not right. This could not be happening. Her breaths remained short and quick, the knife wedge firmly in her grasp ready to stab away. Without even a second notice though, the flash reappeared to her left, the image of trepidation now unacceptably close. Before she could react, the fist made contact with her stomach at least once, her knees involuntarily buckling to the floor.

Vegeta let her slide down his shoulder, examining the nature of the kitchen and paths to other parts of the house more closely. It did not matter if Kakkarot was present or not, he would find the scouter and take the female with him if necessary to use as a bargaining chip.

The small home was set up in a compact oval interior. A long narrow hall traversed from the front door and connected the sitting room, kitchen, and bedrooms farther beyond in an awkward geometry that seemed to waste more space than it created. Tan beams composed of a similar likeness to the creatures he encountered on landing lined the convex cream plaster ceiling and entries. Simple furniture and chairs gave the room a quaint appearance that reflected the lifestyle on its exterior.

His scouter blipped unconsciously as the saiyan homed in on its location to his right and down the hall. Taking some time, he pulled each door to the side and peered into the room on his tour toward it, intrigue mixed with cynical hope that he might also find his friend. But to no avail, as each tiny chamber contained some kind of bed and desk and other objects he could not immediately identify. Pictures hung along the wall, and studying them fleetingly, he noticed other individuals among the woman currently huddled in the kitchen. First, a larger group with faces too small for him to commit to memory, while the second more recent photo depicted her, another taller male with cropped dark hair, and a small child between them, grinning dumbly with blind joviality.

He stopped at the end of the hallway and stared at the image cheerfully responding in the ambient atmosphere. It did not take long to recognize that the taller male was the one he came looking for since the lanky figure was a straight on comparison to his subordinate. It also did not take much effort to figure out why there was conflict; the bundle between them obviously a defect of his training.

A pensive silence followed with growing deliberation and snap judgment. Vegeta squint his eyes venomously, purposely directing his small hand over the frame and crushing it into the wall with a thunderous crack. It would make sense that this infraction would occur among all those too cowardly to stand up against the Planet Trade. And it was worth enough to kill kin over it no less. He continued on his path, a far more directed objective congealing in his mind.

An eye for an eye.

"Kaasan!"

Just as he pulled the final door to the side, the call penetrated through the walls such that the deadly consequences were rebounded away from the high pitched voice approaching the main entry. Fortune, it seems, was smiling on him. Forgetting the scouter nearly within reach, the saiyan captain chuckled softly and turned back over his shoulder.

Gohan got out of school early today. His lessons were short for the first several weeks; a measure to get him accustom to the rigorous schedule even those children in their usual routine were having difficulty measuring up to. Miss Yakimuri was more than a little concerned in Chichi's desire to enroll him early into primary school, for the child was nearly two years younger than his classmates. Still, Gohan was exceedingly intelligent for his age and picked up quickly all of his characters and phrases assigned to him. Socializing was a growing issue though, and Miss Yakimuri was already foreseeing this in his future, so she spent more time than usual trying to get him to have the confidence he often displayed with his work.

However, his character was already building with a refined nature that would cause someone who knew him prior to question the affinities with the younger toddler. His head held high, the boy was excited more to be home now so that he could start his prophesized training with his father. Ever since he received his petite orange gi on the island, ever since the unfortunate incident he was forced to watch from the side lines, he promised to never allow himself to be that vulnerable again. It was better to confront the problem than cower from it. That, of course, was easier said than done, and adjusting to the brood in his class was almost like being on the sandy beach again. Holding his own composure was as much of a victory as actually interacting with them, and thus he had no complaints.

Now he could get to work with his father and two family friends who always looked after him fondly. And then homework as the standard routine was drilled into him by his mother. If he never studied, then he would be doomed to failure. And that would never do. The comfort settled immediately on his shoulders as he rounded the narrow road toward his home. The green patch before him, he called out again, "Kaasan! I'm home!"

During the past several weeks, Chichi was already out to greet her son by the time he even saw the house. The flowered spaced remained vacant, however, a silence following his second call that instinctively made him suspicious. His mother was never absent. Carrying his backpack on one shoulder, as was custom by the older kids, Gohan warily hesitated far enough from the entry to peek through the window to one side. No one seemed to be there, but before he could make another call, the front door began to slowly open.

All lively anticipation was shattered with the gut dropping realization that the person he expected to be swinging the door out to meet him was dangerously missing. Eyes shot open and his little brain processed what he saw. Where was his father? Mother? This was not who he came looking for.

Vegeta stood at the door frame and time seemed to slow in his presence as a malicious smile etched his defined jaw line. Lingering for a moment, there was nothing either could say or do since Gohan seemingly froze in place, a drained expression returning sudden alarm. He could sense the child's heart quicken, and it would make sense as to why.

A pit pat pit pat silently traversed the hallway. The knife firmly in her grip, it was her only chance to side track the predator long enough to give her son opportunity to flee. And although Gohan never saw his guardian emerge along her path, the enemy somehow caught wind of it. It was as though he predicted it. Swiftly, gracefully he turned to his side and shoved the woman into the hallway wall with his upper back. A deafening thud exploded from within the structure as the wall passively caved beneath her, to which he continued to push with his other shoulder until facing the front entry again, stepping back and allowing the ceiling to follow. Anger momentarily crossed his eyes as he assessed the likelihood of her continued advance. Now he would only be able to take the boy. But it did not matter, for it meant that he was more likely to get the response he desired anyway.

Gohan knew that he should fly. He should scream or something. But words and movement seemed to be lost on him. Like it was on the island. There was no time to react, though, as the force accompanying this man's unrealistic strength also further glue his feet to the ground. Vegeta took pause before glancing back out to the small boy now gawking in utter terror. The command was spat hastily, "Don't run."


	5. Reprisal

**AN: I don't own anything!** Thank you for reading, and if you care, please **please please REVIEW**! I like hearing what you have to say. :)

**Chapter 4: Reprisal**

They were quickly on his tail. The tsiru chuckled quietly at the private anecdote as the ship slowed to a reasonable speed. Rarely did this cousin choose to make a personal investment in the success of an assassination, but it grew tired of past failure. The last several attempts to terminate the informant were a disappointment and Freeza's erratic behavior was drawing more attention than it preferred, especially considering the actions directly disobeyed orders prior to Vegeta's transfer. Perhaps this was the real reason why it was being called before the Overseers yet again. There was no secrecy with the disdain the warlord carried for its cousin's pet. From the moment large poignant eyes landed on the royal runt, it knew this marked the end of more than just a single insignificant species.

The clipping of its hind claws provided a soft tap against the cool metal flooring as Freeza made way to the control board. Two officers stood by, the only other individuals with knowledge of the mission. The last thing it wanted was Nirrikii's involvement. Then there _would_ be a fight. The smooth hoary skin refracted in the stark light above with an almost oily appearance, seemingly washing the allure out of the surroundings in a way that also mirrored its ability to strike the vivacity out of the mind with a single icy glare. Its attention was focused though on an objective and when it wanted something done, there was no point in denying the command. Both eyes quickly honed in on the coordinates, the sharp mind behind them quietly formulating the next step in its plan.

"How much longer until we reach our destination, Zarbon?"

It was atypical for the warlord to ever acknowledge any subordinate by name. He knew this but chose not to show the surprise. Glancing over, "Not long, Lord. We are slowing currently and the target has not left its position."

Musky air escaped the pinholes for nostrils. He was overstating the obvious. Pivoting its neck, Freeza lifted up on hind haunches to inspect the information directly. They were nearly within the atmosphere, "What is this place? The chart shows no record of it."

Giving some space for his commander to take over the seat, the first class officer selected his words wisely, "There is no record. I scanned the database for facilities in this region, but the closest unmarked base is Tuin, clicks away near the border."

"Is it inhabited?"

"Yes."

It inhaled, the pause directing the officer to continue.

"Results indicate that it is a Razukin planet."

Both eyes twitched impetuously, a long bony digit confirming the results with another scan, "That is strange."

The warlord had to search its memory. Too many damn planets were colonized with those vermin and with a sullen ironic chortle, it considered how this would make sense given that the Planet Trade managed to forget a few; one somehow stuck in the middle of its territory. Turning sharply to the assassin and lower ranked officer to one side, "No matter. Make special note to look into this after we return to Ngtsu. We have other more pressing matters as of now."

* * *

The phone rang loudly in her ear.

Bulma sat straight up in her bed, REM sleep in full swing as she flung an arm around to stop the intrusive chime. Rubbing her eyes grumpily, she peered at the clock: 3:42 am.

"Hello."

"Bulma!"

Lapis eyes flickered open upon hearing the familiar voice and she pulled the phone away to look at the number. This was not her home line ringing, but her cell. Very few people had her personal contact information.

"Hello?"

"Go- Goku, is that you?" She pulled the handset back tentatively, unsure if she was recalling something from dreamland. It would not have been the first time.

"Bulma, I'm in trouble."

He sounded so strange, "What's wrong? Where are you?"

He was panicked, and for some reason it reminded her of the island in a vague way. A blur of disjointed phrases came responding, "Chichi's hurt. Gohan's missing. I was just talking with her and then when we got here, the place was a mess. It's half collapsed. Something's very," a shaky pause, "wrong, Bulma."

She rubbed her temple, scooting to the edge of the bed. A robe was nearby, tossing it on while she retreated into the office suite on the opposite end of the hotel room. The Phoenix nightline glowed through the window paneled wall, providing a dim lighted path to her desk. Grabbing a pen, notes recapped a series of calls she would need to make.

"Goku, I need you to calm down and tell me what happened."

"I need to your help," she had never heard him like this before. This man was unbeatable against anyone's standard, in the least with regard to his ever optimistic, buoyant disposition, "Please."

"I know," she stood there for a moment before slurring off support as quickly as her heart was dropping. This must have been bad, "I can get there only as fast as I can. I'm out of the country right now, but I am already on my way out the door with help. Now, I need to you tell me exactly what happened so I know who to send."

He told her everything to the very detail his brain could retrieve. He missed the entire event, only recalling the expression of alarm on Tien's face staring at his home before accepting the same emotional response. He was just talking with her. They were not that far away.

Minutes turned into hours and rain clouds were building now. Large bulky forms lurked in the sky padding, exemplifying the severity of the situation. Lightening threatened the mountain side its desire to let loose the anxiety slamming down on the very consciousnesses searching the forest below. It seemed so long ago that he hung up with his friend on the other side of the world as an incessant pull in his gut was telling enough where to go. Although Goku could not pinpoint with any rational reason why he was walking in this direction, he _knew_ this was the only way to find his son. Sharp pangs of dread clamped on occasionally, like a beast howling, and the thoughts screaming through his brain prayed that it was misled. Why would this be happening now? Why to him?

Tien and Chaozu split down a different path, circling the base of the mountain with all the skill their family military history drilled into them. Hesitantly, the older sibling chose that perhaps it was a good idea to arm himself in case the perpetrator was as sinister as the neighbors suggested. The farming community, although tiny since the actual village was several kilometers away, heard what they thought might have been an explosion only to see dust settling from the Son residence. When the two women, preparing their respective evening meals, met up across the fields and down the small dirt trail, they had just missed the final confrontation, only spotting a male directing the child up into the hills. There was something about the man that made them stop their pursuit even though he never saw them. So instead, they drew their attention to the house to see if anyone might still be inside.

"Dan, I want you to go up that trail," Tien addressed his brother by his family name, although the nickname seemed more fitting. The short, white-blond teen looked to the north with a nod before heading off. Their cell phones worked well enough to relay back and forth.

They called the police and a small team came up within the hour. Krillin and Yamcha, still at Kame House after their get together, were phoned soon after. Being so far from Kyoto meant that there was a lag in both the response time and the attention they could extend, but the latter pair ensured that they would be there as soon as they could. Chichi was tended to first, gradually unburying her from the entry, while the other half of the group searched the vicinity. His school bag left behind, there was little other sign to identify him. Soon it would be nightfall. They needed to find Gohan by then.

Strained calls rang out and echoed across the steep cliffs high above.

Frustration spiked off the normally calm man as he came to a fork in the trail. He thought he saw footprints at one point, but quickly lost it again within the brush. Closing his eyes, Goku prayed to himself to keep hope that he would find him, the cheerful face of the boy reminding the man of how bright a spirit he was. He was innocent. Palms on his knees, he concentrated harder on the gut sensation. Sometimes it was like a golden oval of light somewhere near the back his mind, a serene aura that told him this was Gohan occasionally surging near his eyelids. He could not see it directly, but it tugged at him again, directing him to the correct path.

He looked up realizing that he could not be far. There was an alcove with a spring down this road. It was a dead end. His breath became more ragged, anticipation of the threat that lingered beyond the trees. Pulling the last of the leaf litter away, his adversary at last showed himself.

The male stood slightly crouched near his hostage. The lighting was too dim to make out much detail, almost darkening the hues into a black and white image. _Dangerous_ was the first thing to surface in Goku's mind as he studied the demeanor and appearance that caught wind of his presence even before he chose the trail. The man was small, he could make that much out, a petite refined build not much different from some martial fighters he met up with in his past. But this one was distinct, a familiar accessory hung from his face that Goku wanted to sincerely deny was real. His chest was white and hidden behind the child held firmly at the neck. One hand carefully curved around Gohan's chin, ready to snap on command. Dark hair and beady eyes were fixed on the trailhead. He was expecting company.

"Come to retrieve something?" He had a darker voice than Goku expected that seemed to dampen the blackness around him.

"Let him go," he began evenly, "Please, he's just a child."

Vegeta gave a feral smirk. Letting the boy free was the last thing on his mind, "I should kill him for what you've done."

"I'm sorry, but I don't know you and I don't know what you think I've done."

"It does not matter if you know me. You took something of mine." The tone went immediately flat, "I thought we could make a little trade."

"Trade," the full offer had not quite registered, "What do you want?"

"What else would I want, Kakkarot? Retribution for your actions."

All he could do was shake his head, slowly gulping fear back into his strong character for panicking would do nothing for him now, "I don't understand."

"What _I_ don't understand is what is so drawing about _this_," his gripped tightened on Gohan's chin, rewarded with a muffled whimper, "that you would abandon everything. You waste our efforts for something you are _not_."

"I do not understand." Goku repeated. His son's attempt to not instantly cry out cracked his heart in two, long lashes pleading up to him. He had to steady his breathing, speaking slowly, almost condescendingly, "What did I abandon? What did I do you?"

"To me?" He phrased questioningly, stilling stony eyes on the younger male, "You misunderstand, Kakkarot."

He took pause at the oddity of the moniker, "What did you call me?"

The query was almost insulting though, and both brows quirked down, "It is your name, fool."

The first, most predictable human trait is denial. And although in the back of his head he could not absolutely refute the familiarity with it, his voice managed to pull off the lie with an unsteady resolve, "No, it's not."

"It is unwise to call me a liar."

"It's not that I'm calling you a liar," he returned carefully, "It's just that we've never met, so how do you know who I am?"

"It is not difficult to make the connection – you two share a striking likeness."

Silence filled the space as Goku failed yet again to 'make the connection.' Slowly, almost painfully though an image came to him that replaced what little optimism he had left with dismay. After all, he still had the unknown object in his bedroom. He spent so much time pondering over it as of late.

"Why did you do it? Who set you up?" Rage and something akin to pain unexpectedly etched in Vegeta's brow and Goku had to quickly sift his mind for whatever explanation the man wanted, "Why did you kill him?"

The man. That unusual man at Kame House. Suddenly, all of the sense of guilt returned to him as he could understand with stunning clarity how right his gut was. He had seen this coming, "The man on the island."

"So you admit it. Radditz is dead."

"I had no choice," he urged passionately, blindly. The incident was not his fault.

"There is _always_ a choice!"

"He attacked my son," pointing heatedly to his child still wrapped critically in the enemy's arms before swinging back to the house where his love laid unconscious when they found her, "My wife!"

"He was your brother, subordinate," bitterness oozed with the statement. How could this idiot not acknowledge it as though his actions were in any way justifiable, "What would you expect him to do?"

Sweat poured off his forehead, dumbstruck by the revelation, "That can't be."

"It is," he scoffed at the rejection, "He came looking for you, so sad to discover his youngest sibling is a defect. I could have warned him and saved the trouble, but he went ahead to his death anyway."

"No, no you have it wrong," anger rising in his blood, "I have no brother nor any other family for as long as I can remember. There has to have been a mistake."

"Saiyans don't make mistakes, Kakkarot," the irony of this claim made Vegeta falter slightly in his mind. There were in fact so many mistakes made in his time, his conscience by which so often pushed to take the fall for these errors regardless if it was the Planet Trade that ultimately chose all courses of action. But _this_, the death of his friend, the last of his allies, was all too much to bear such that the blame crashed down onto something less worthy.

"Stop calling me that!" The momentary loss of control slipped precariously as Vegeta scowled, backing up with the Gohan in toe. His hold tightened coincidently as Goku reminded himself to keep calm. Hands pushed forward caution with sweaty palms, allowing him to swallow the lump, allowing another fret to drop from his forehead, "I'm sorry. Please, you have to believe me. I don't know who this person was, but I can assure you there is no relation between us."

"You are so quick to abandon. All of you were so quick to leave as this life is better for you." A low chill set over Goku as the man became more resolute, a hardened icy focus aligning his gaze, "More convenient. Well, what about the rest of your kind as we die slowly by the hand that damned us?"

"The rest of my kind - what are talking about?"

But Vegeta was already lost in his rage, the tirade building, "Where were _they_ when we needed them to pull us for our hell? You think this is better?" Motioning to boy, who's stern young eyes stared back to his father with quiet hope, "This is simply another illusion. Delusion of grandeur. They won't protect their elders but let us rot in our own history. A history – a bloody narration – they themselves were born from."

The plea was quiet, "Let my son go."

"_You are not one of them!_" Lightening crackled the air around them releasing ozone and smoke nearby. The insanity was taking over in a flush of heat that radiated away from the small saiyan. He was done with the excuses. He was done with the lies and the treachery. He would not go down like this and an example had to be made. It was an acceptable sacrifice, "This infraction is no better than the death sentence placed on our heads. We could have been something! We could have rebelled if it were not for the likes of you. The flaw of our kind it seems is blind adaptability, Kakkarot! Let us cow to our dilution to be discarded. _I will not allow it!_"

"Then take me," he returned resiliently, standing forthright, "Fight me. Your threat has nothing to do with him!"

He laughed then. Each push of the deep husky snort erupting from his chest set the enemy's hair on end. Whispering slowly, as though Vegeta wished to prolong the anguish emanating from the father, he tilted his head down with dangerous eye contact, "It has everything to do with him. You cower to a half-breed over your own blood and for that you all deserve to die."

* * *

Tien subconsciously shuddered from the crack of thunder. He was never a favorite of storms, but was not about to retreat at the first sign of flashing white light. The rain drops were slow at first, but increased in fervor as the sky seemed to cry down onto the mountain sides and into the valley below. Breathing deeply, he let out a sigh into the wooded area before him. His brother called several times with negatives on their search, and finally he asked the teen back to where he now waited under the protection of a maple tree. Dusk was encroaching with no child found as a reward. Looking off to his side he caught minor movement through the brush, where Dan, Chichi's little Chaozu, emerged somewhat winded from the scramble up the hill.

"Nothing?"

He shook his head with a groan "I'm worried, Mike."

"I know." There was nothing else really to say that the older man could see as comforting. Although Chaozu had only known Gohan for a short duration, he could not help but feel fondly for the kid. He had spunk, charm, and a shyness about him that reminded both of the brothers of their own attributes growing up. They moved a lot. All over the United States; never settling until Tien left the country. They were fortunate in that he could occasionally invite the younger to come along, and ever the pair was inseparable, more because Chaozu admired to him so. Looking back, Tien gave a compassionate prod, "Look, we'll go up this trail and if we find nothing, then we can head back to the house and see if Goku had any better luck."

With a nod, they agreed, plodding through the wet foliage in the dimming light. The trails were all very narrow and overgrown as most of the temples within the mountains were only visited by a few, paying homage to the ancestors. The ancient holy sites left a forgotten peace behind solemnly looking out over the valley or cuddled within the shady saddles like gates between the each half of the ridge. Tien figured this could be a good place to find the child and his kidnapper, seeking refuge under the sacred roofs. It seemed ironic.

Old cloth lanterns from the last blessing were a bit tattered, pitty-pattying of raindrops using them for drums. The curve of the wooden pagoda edge guided a smooth waterfall to one side, drowning out the surrounding noise. But something did not smell right and an eerie sense came over Tien as he cautiously walked along the narrow steps up to the main landing.

"Does that smell like fuel to you?" He motioned back to the younger.

Chaozu sniffed the air, a wrinkle across his nose, "Burning. Was there a fire here?"

"No," he whispered before cutting silence within the darkened building, "Gohan?"

"I don't think he's here, Mike. Maybe we should turn back."

A snapping sound resounded from the other side.

"Did you hear that?" Tien gave little chance for Chaozu to answer before walking the length of veranda and rounding the corner. Then he stopped. Backed up. Looked to the sibling with wide eyes.

"What!" He hissed, unnerved by the atypical reaction. Tien returned his dissonant gaze back around the corner though before warily taking a step forward. Chaozu hesitated momentarily, his soaked scrawny form unhappy with this whole search. Shaking himself of the fear, setting his mind back into the ROTC lessons from last year, he bit his tongue from yelling at his brother for scaring him so much and pushed forward. Rounding the corner himself as quickly as he could, imitating the expression was easy, "Oh my God."

The backside of the temple was gone. The wooden beams still stuck straight out into the charred flat before them, in its place was the curve of a silver object. A massive object. Oval. Flat. And it had some kind of pegs or something Chaozu could not quite see holding it up. His mouth slacked a little, arms at both sides as an uneasy feeling rose in the pit of his stomach. They never said anything about aliens before.

"Mike, what is that?" Came the unsteady question motioning toward the ship.

"Shhh."

Tien pressed against what remained of the wall, unlatching the case on his belt loop as he went. The safety of the nine millimeter was turned off carefully in case he needed it. His ears picked up something low, growling, and he could tell that it was not coming from the bizarre machine. Peering into the darkened hole, he let out a breath he had not realized he held.

The snapping sound came again, this time louder and with a nasally kind of grunt. Grabbing Chaozu's arm roughly, Tien leaped back, hitting the whitewashed hull with unintentional force. Before either knew what hit them though, the shocking sensation invaded so hard that he was unsure if it knocked him out at first, the convulsing of his muscles alerted him that it must have been electrified. A deep metallic sound rebounded from the smooth wall, a blue light crackling up the edge. Heart rate quickening, Tien first glanced over to his brother coughing uncontrollably from the jolt; deep breaths surging in and out of his lungs like he was on an overactive ventilator. Then, jerking back to another sound, the continued sharp grunts now also combined with rustling in his peripheral vision, his face began to pale.

A reddish oddly shaped thing stood just within the darkened frame, taking shelter from the downpour. Reflection of the bright white behind them sung within four spots near the top, the frightening realization that their approach was being watched. As slow as time seemed to become, his reaction was all too quick as the creature, the blob now that he saw it in the light, took its first sluggish step.

He brought the gun for target practice. This was not the kind of target he was envisioning. Like second nature, an additional appendage strapped to him for good measure, Tien swung the weapon up as he quickly retrieved himself. And fired. Emptied the clip actually, all the while the crimson thing still managed to approach the pair. Almost within arms reach, a distressingly quick advance, it was the final shot that rendered the adversary motionless, square between what Tien would interpret to be the several black portals for eyes. He was not sure. He was not about to wait and find out either. Jerking up his brother still huddled painfully in the mud, both backed up and around the hull of the silver machine, liquid electric metal lining a path to the trail he knew to be on the other side.

"God, my chest hurts so bad." His head knelt down and hand clasped on his lungs, Chaozu was lucky to have missed the entire scene.

However, Tien was not about give any time to explain, his voice growing more anxious, "You got to breath, Dan! We gotta go!"

Wincing, they both slid abruptly along the lush muddy path, the trees blocking their fall. Now on the other side of the ridge, all routes led back to their tiny community. However, clearly it was getting too dark to see the path and Tien nudged his brother by the shoulder up against the trunk.

"How many of those did you bring," Chaozu asked, his throat hoarse from heaving.

Tien looked up sharply while fumbling with something on his belt, "Only one. Here, hold this."

His brother took the flashlight with a free hand, locating the grip and switch as the light flashed a little too suddenly into his face. Tien slipped another clip out from under his utility knife, wondering now if he should have brought more. The two stood there in silence, still finding their breath and rattled consciousness left somewhere up the road. Then Chaozu chose to swing the light away from them. It was like they tripped over a root or something hidden in the mud. Swallowing the growing lump, he wished he left it alone, "I don't think the others faired so well."

"What do you mean?" He just pulled the barrel back to secure the chamber before looking at the light beam. The root they seemingly tripped over was actually someone's arm. Next to it laid another person, one of the officers sent up this side of the mountain in their search, facing up to the rain. Eyes open to the deluge, Tien guessed that the man did not have much time to react since his neck was so red and thinned. Something hit him hard. Taking the light from the stunned teen, his voice was sympathetic but stanch, "We gotta go."

A deafening roar bellowed. This was not thunder nor was it the grunting they heard back at the temple, but something much, much larger down the hill and to their right. Shaking the siblings from their reverie, the pair rightly forgot about the discovery to begin a race passed the sound. This was getting all too strange. A sweeping noise alerted Tien to the dark figure before they had a chance to slow enough in the sludge, slipping on a real root and tumbling into the terraced grove.

Chaozu immediately took to a run, using the grass and loose flashlight as leverage. Frantically pressing the failing switch, he sprinted toward the other side, searching for the dirt road to pick up again. Before he reached the finish line though the howl came once more, something reaching out and whacking his torso in a manner that made him literally fly sideways into the brush. Still not deterred, the boy wrangled himself out and to his feet, this time seeing the male figure lunge down toward him. Another route to his side, he took every track competition to heart and galloped toward it. But the grass slipped beneath him, knocking what little balance he had left painfully to his knees, the unknown foe frighteningly too close behind him.

A shot rang out from above. Tien managed to hit the large man straight in the shoulder, but that only momentarily stopped the beast from grappling the target as the teen slipped out of the way. Retrieving his arm the male glared up, the large maw set in a grimace as he took a side step in the military man's direction. Tien had to gulp at the prospect – he had never seen someone so large in his life. The quantitative brain of his measured the hand height like he would on a horse, now realizing that the man had to be well over two meters tall. The width of his silhouette sent an unconscious chill down his spine, a cold recognition that even his strong stature and training might not be able to take him down. And the path was wide open as the face off between David and Goliath stood clear, the metal stones primed in his high tech sling; he could only pray it would save him.

However, he did not get the chance for like a dark angel, something materialized to the man's side, using the distraction as an advantage. A white blade-like structure stemmed from it, bowing swiftly at the other's skull.

Chaozu backed away, hitting a lone tree in the middle of the field with a muted thud, paralyzed from the shock engulfing his rationality. From his angle, the bipedal creature was far smaller with dark skin. Long strands of something akin to hair fell down the thin torso, bound near its neck. But it was so dark that other features were not really visible, and the view was obstructed anyway by the blinding sparks whipping from its long defined fingers. The enemy, still immersed in Tien's attempt to divert attention away, failed to react at first and was knocked back several steps.

Another feral cry rang out, a large hand speedily reacting against the attack. The lone figure swerved with grace, defying what the laws of physics bestowed upon the earth bound presence by arching up and away. An appendage reached for the low branch over Chaozu's head, while two golden iris slits peered down at his slacked jawed countenance before rebounding off the limb. This was not human.

"What the fuck is that!" Chaozu wailed out, slumping down into the mud. The bulky man rounded away from the figure, looking for something in turn to use as a makeshift weapon. Several more ear-splitting barks belted from his mouth.

"Dan, get out of there!"

The smaller form twitched toward the noise, and Tien would have guessed a sneer or something flashed over its teeth as the white blades flickered in the night. Apparently unhappy with the audience, one of the fiery weapons flung toward him in a blaze of white heat, and the older brother sought cover quickly before the explosion reached the forest edge. A cold sweat ushered forth at the base of his brain, urging the fight or flight response, his instincts of which could only serve to hold his pistol up and fire. This was not a God damn war zone.

It took a moment before these flight signals won over and pushed Chaozu to run again. Lifting up from the base of the tree, he bolted down the terrace and back to his brother. His only thought was of the grassy recess below the infernos erupting within the shrubbery beyond, by which even the rain was having difficulty subduing the bomb. Scooting past his only protection, Tien continued to empty the magazine with expert force, the knowledge gained through all of his years carefully placed between the dueling pair with deadly accuracy. Still, each of the five successful hits did not daunt the fight, but rather fueled it. Their presence seemingly forgotten in the storm was replaced by a sea of emotion.

The final shot, rigidly hitting the darker one near what he guessed should be the spine, would give them a chance to flee for good in case atrocity decided to follow them. Backing away, yanking his brother as he went, another round-about trail would have to be sought. They flew down the hill and through the brush, their breath lost long ago with the insanity that surfaced. Skidding into the overflowing creaks adjoining the tapered path, he had to find a way out. And as the rain poured relentlessly over them, one thing was becoming certain in his mind – he needed to find Goku. The scene behind them was informative that he would not be able to do this alone.

Stopping unexpectedly at the fork he recognized to verge into the main road, Tien turned to his brother. A drawn face of determination emerged beneath the ragged breaths, "Go back to the house."

"What! I'm not leaving you here!" The terror that bled from his lips was enough to reinforce Tien's words.

"Dan, go! Wait for Krillin and the others to show and tell them to stay at the bottom of the mountain."

He stood there bewildered, shaking. An adolescent obviously too young for the event that just transpired. In the moment, however, there was little else he could do other than belt out his concern in one simple word, "GO!"

He could not tell if it was dejection or earnest fear that reflected in the welling tears as the teen backed up to the lower trail. A timid nod followed, leaving him alone in the dark. Chaozu took the flashlight, but Tien really did not care as long as his sibling was safe. Hoping to keep away from some other heinous carnage lurking in the mountains, his eyes renewed a trained visage on the other path forking upward, outwardly well traveled as of recent. It was not difficult to follow in the dark as he clamored along, pulling the third and last cartridge out. The man readied himself to use it again, the quiet snap of the clip helped guide his aim as he held it forward into the woods.

* * *

So, before you all scream that I changed some names and made Tien and Chaozu brothers – think about it. Tien and Chaozu both came from far away to the west and they are inseparable almost in a creepy way. I thought this would be a good solution into reality from the anime characters and hopefully you can see it too. If not, please refer to the author's note in the prologue. :)

Hope you enjoyed this as much as I did writing it. Ok, so **review** and drink your milk!


	6. Harbinger

**AN: I don't own anything!** Whew, enjoy! And as always please **please please REVIEW**! I always appreciate your comments.

**Chapter 5: Harbinger**

What does one really say after an outburst like that? Both males soaked in the silence as Vegeta reset his resolution with irregular breath. Almost coincident was the distant pressure veiling over his temple; an indication that Nappa was upset about something. Perhaps someone was unfortunate enough to tramp across their unmarked territory.

"You sent someone else along with your search."

The jarred change in subject unfocused the taller man from their stare down. Tien. Slowly, Goku nodded and motioned subtly to Gohan, "Several of us were looking for my son."

His disposition went haughty as he cocked his chin, "Well you should hope that he failed to run into Nappa. He was bored and needed something to do."

Unnerved, "Please, it doesn't have to go down like this."

"Out of my control," he stated simply, "You get the brute started and it is just better to let him finish. Too bad for your friend."

Another moment of silence followed in the rain. Goku's mind began to race, evaluating all the ways he could take matters into his own hands with the least risk to Gohan. The male knew what he was doing though, and he could see how one hand was positioned perfectly along the pressure point at the base of the child's skull. Eyes trained upon him skillfully, he was waiting patiently for the first move. He was testing how willing the other was to give up his family for revenge.

Gohan, although firmly in place, caught the rustling in the brush beyond his father's shoulder before anyone else, and a set of small hands reached up to clutch at the man's forearm. Vegeta's brows clenched along with his grip, but it still did not deter the boy as he began to squirm more vigorously, his little eyes widening. It was much too dark to distinguish exactly what the child was signaling toward, but in the lightening flashes the saiyan finally noticed the familiar shadow. His face blanched faintly but returned stoic as he backed further into the alcove.

"Hey!" Goku cried, losing sight of the pair before hearing the snap of the twig behind him. A prayer wisped under his breath and he turned with hope that it was Tien. But, the request was lost with the renewed cold sweat up his spine as a face pushed past the low branches. The shorter profile looked fleetingly human in the dark until light reflected against the image again, exposing the oversized eyes countered with an abnormally narrow jaw. A slightly longer neck than expected was attached, swiveling its line of sight to meet the stunned man. The duel set of lids squinted momentarily, the expression morphing the entirety of humanoid outline into something more oddly parallel to a barracuda.

The tsiru looked to him with a sharp intake of air before slowly exhaling through the thin gaps between its many spindly teeth. The initial mental inference that there were more than two saiyan signatures on the planet disturbed it greatly, considering that the scans failed to even locate the defects themselves. Upon landing and verifying their coordinates, each split to handle the lower ranked separately, leaving the last to guard the post in case their arrival was discovered. By ordering Zarbon to deal with the larger one, the warlord could risk a more personal visit to the other. It was not until icy orbs unexpectedly rested on the trio through the trees that the thought flourished at how bizarre the mission was becoming, "You … you are not razukin."

"What?" The response was strongly delayed and relatively weak as Goku's expression mimicked that of his son's. The sound coming from it was harsh and guttural, ending in a near siren pitch as it locked its chin and snorted through the flattened space for a muzzle.

However, Freeza cared little for his reaction, soon turning to the objective and smaller creature at his side farther in the dark, "And neither is that."

Gohan began to further waver, panic taking on a life of its own. In his own way he wriggled excitedly to somehow retreat from the greater threat now suddenly too close for comfort on either side of him. Vegeta rotated the grip on the pressure point to immobilize the child before speaking in an equally alien tongue. He had a feeling this would happen the moment the homing beacon blew in the sphee, "I wasn't expecting a visit from the 'Great Lord' so quickly. I figured you would send another to do you dirty work before gracing me with your presence."

A long stride emerged from the trail as it rocked back down on its strong legs, a long narrow appendage following obediently. Goku's brain seemed to skip, letting instinct take over in order to back out of the way and let whatever it was pass. Small shoulders slouched together as the four-digit hand touched down, air hissing wickedly from the creature, "I would not waste my effort were your kind not so tough to get rid of."

"Tsk, you go out of your way for me, Freeza," the defiant dry sarcasm seeped through his words, "I should be thankful."

Its eyes drew slits upon hearing its own name used in vein. The insolence of the subordinate's tenor was simply another reflection of the leniency on his mentor, "You should be. This was long outdated, subordinate."

"Aww," as ludicrous as it came out, the laugh that followed seemed to convey his knowledge of this fact and how little he cared for it, "and risk what little position you have left? She would pounce on the prospect to take your head as trophy."

_She_. It. Freeza knew exactly what the saiyan rebel was insinuating and the reference to the cousin was infuriating, "Nirrikii is foolish to think you could offer anything of relevance beyond your innate incompetence."

His tone became brutally serious, "It would be better than what you offer."

"You saiyans are all alike – I fail to see how evolution took its course with your descendents." Tilting the smooth mauve cranium downward, the sly rebuttal was fashioned to push the button in a way uncharacteristic of the warlord, were it not that it was preparing for this occasion all along. Lately, its short temper was as customary as its rival's, "You confuse puppetry for salvation when it would be better that you accept your loss and let it go."

"You don't think I know I'm a puppet?" It somehow understood the lesson mattered more than its pride. Baiting was the only thing it required and was seemingly rewarded with as another scornful sniff escaped from the man, "You can't get rid of me because I cost too much!"

"We all must sacrifice, much like the rest of your species."

The comparison ignited too many memories, and the saiyan had to hold himself back from reacting impulsively to the statement. They were all lied to. They were used and manufactured. Guilt surfaced from the easy manipulation of his quelled emotions; anger bubbling as the tsiru took advantage of his loss of control like all other things precious to him. The murmur was almost inaudible, "You took everything from me."

"_I_ took nothing from _you_," Freeza's tail whipped with irritation before a snicker-like expression flashed through its teeth, "That would require something initially worth acquiring," for the game with this subject always tendered remuneration, "You, Vegeta, are simply another pet in a long line that barely merit reprogramming," and it would be lying if it said that there was no enjoyment with this act in the end, "I am simply finishing that job my predecessors are incapable of."

With prediction, it sat up to catch the child thrown with ferocity. Using the body as leverage, the tsiru pushed its weight onto Gohan's back to leap at the defense. But a whip of light rebounded before Freeza ever reached him, forcing hind quarters back down into the drenched ground to regain balance. Pausing to shake off the shock, realigning its vision again, an eerie growl surged forth.

Goku would have sworn that lightening struck the creature if he had not personally witnessed the weapon come from the small male instead. The bluish aura radiated into nothingness, acting like an electric field once the enemy was within distance. Vegeta stood crouched and seemingly out of breath from the attack before it yet advanced like a wild predator, moving with speed that defied the spectator's eyes, and this time without any ill affects. Lunging down, Vegeta sideswiped the underside of its torso but failed to back away quickly enough to avoid the tail as it rounded to smack the side of his skull. Before he even hit the ground, he could feel the slim claws crack through the armor plate and into his rib cage. Unhinging its jaw, the tsiru wasted no time in clamping its teeth into his clavicle. The flouting of bone and splitting of the ligaments sent searing sensations throughout his chest, and an involuntary scream rewarded it for the effort.

He had to fight hard to concentrate long enough. Placing palms flat criss-cross between the enemy's limbs, an invisible force was applied that all too quickly knocked the wind out of both of them. Ripping the grip from his shoulder, bits of flesh and armor were taken with it as they flung apart. Vegeta continued to cry out from the distress shooting up his side, clutching his limb stilled from the impact and resting his face into the developing mire. The alien seemingly bent on his destruction whacked the alcove wall, several flakes of rock ricocheting down on top of it and into the spring below.

Goku stood as motionless has he could, the storm crackling during the intermission. He had no need to understand anything they said to discern that something was terribly wrong with this scenario. Even in light that the man threatened him greatly, this thing clearly wanted his blood more for whatever reason, bypassing them to take the male on for some personal vendetta. Somehow, given the irrationality of the situation, he still managed to think it unfair.

Gohan had still not risen from the ground. The blow to the backside knocked him out, and taking the chance, the father hurried to the boy's side to turn him over. Hovering to keep the rain from pouring too harshly in his face, the first instinct was to run. However, a sickening feeling soon engulfed his stomach again unsure if such an action would solve anything when movement in the darkened hole caught his attention.

Scuffed up and irate, the creature emerged with a vociferous shriek that threatened to cause the cave itself to subside. Advancing on the injured male, something similar to whatever Vegeta pulled from his soul was fired at him in the form of a small ball of fire. Falling to his side, the saiyan released a matched set that cancelled the shot out, but not before the creature was on top of him with another attempt to rip out his throat. Reaching up with his good arm, he caught its neck before the tapered incisors could gain hold, kicking with all his strength into its abdomen.

It was not until the third strike that the tsiru finally relented, dragging hind claws down Vegeta's torso as it went. Forcing himself up to create as much distance as possible, another shot was fired with contact to the beast's side, pushing it into the tree trunk beyond. Bark bent plastically around the creature, thick branches falling like spears between them.

He had to do something. No matter how much his mind justified this man's death for the peril and suffering emplaced upon his family, it was not right to simply stand by and watch. And with the fearsome villain attacking, the creature he had no comprehension on how to categorize, Goku was willing to risk familiarity over an unknown. With this guy, he could get answers. With the other, he would only be eaten.

Freeza flexed sinuous muscles along its spine and readjusted the crouched position below the tree trunk with a new avenue in mind. Hefty wooden obstructions in its way, the subordinate was still close enough. Vegeta could barely carry himself simply keeping the predator at bay. He always knew the warlord was fast and abnormally strong for its size, but never first-hand experiencing a real assault left him startlingly under qualified. With all of his skill and familiarity with the wrath that the tsiru species was known for, it still was not every day that someone openly challenged death. Further, while this one at least admired a good old-fashioned duel, the other cousin was really the one to look out for anyway. Negotiators always struck when unexpected. That was their expertise.

Vegeta accepted that he had no time to accrue the energy necessary for the next defense. The warlord came from the side first and reappeared before his stooping form, lifting up on its tail and boxing with yet another aim to disembowel. Ivory covering scraped along the opaline keratin until they met face to face, snarl to snarl; their limbs locked with a ram to the forehead. The small saiyan disappeared shortly afterward, a slighted image reflecting near the edge of the spring.

Another siren cry from the tsiru's gullet pierced the ears, and snapping of its teeth complimented the growl soon after. Completing disregarding the two unaccounted beings in its path, another blazing object was sent flying from its forearm. A millisecond passed for Goku to recognize it, barely tunneling himself and Gohan to one side as the white sphere hit the wall where Vegeta stood. The creature was not about to wait for the response, immediately shifting its weight to the left and cutting off passage to the miscreant trying now simply to find somewhere to hide rather than fight back. Meeting the saiyan half way, Freeza reached up with claws facing forward into nothing, only to collide suddenly with the blur of black and white. Holding onto the weapon thrust deeply into his chest, Vegeta jerked up to meet the death harbinger with an astonished gasp. This was it. The warlord took its moment to shine, drawing the failing body forward in an almost thoughtful, lingering gesture, and then quickly, ruthlessly rotated to slam him into the flood.

"Stop!"

The tsiru paused, caught off guard by the unusual dialect. It did not recognize the language, with latent recognition, and turned impatiently to the speaker.

_Stupid! Stupid, stupid, stupid_, was all he kept saying in his head. The moment cold eyes focused on him, Goku knew this was a mistake. But he pressed anyway in the futile effort to communicate, "You're killing him!"

Was this saiyan arguing with it? A confused expression flit across its profile as the animal yanked the lances from Vegeta's listless form and cocked its chin in Goku's direction.

_Fuck_.

Lightening flashed overhead again, the tsiru squatting down into a stance of some kind, and the reptilian qualities augmenting its figure like a dinosaur ready to dance. Or fly. Or charge.

He knew intuitively to back up, gently placing Gohan out of harms way near the trailhead for an escape, and face the threat head on. There was no point in running anymore now that he provoked awareness. To his bewilderment, the thing provided him with the time to consider the child as well; a striking difference from the battle he just observed. Perhaps it was evaluating him, deciding if he was an opponent worth taking on. Steely eyes twitched from its level position as the man took a relaxed pose, shifting his shoulders and readying himself. This would be easy.

Rushing the male, the tsiru reached for his unprotected front with similar motives. Fear dissipated within Goku as he waited for the best time to shift to his side, grabbing the alien's tail and wrenching backward with all the vigor he could muster. Then, as though choreographed from all his practice, he lifted a foot just as its neck reached an appropriate distance and followed through swiftly into the ground.

He did not think. He just did.

When Freeza finally managed itself upright in the water, irises were still out of focus, and it rasped frantically for air from its bruised windpipe. Without hesitation, another fiery blaze formed within its clawed hand and sent toward where the tall male backed away. Ducking was all he could do, the edge of the ethereal sphere grazing his shoulder blades on the way down. As he was grounded with a severe smack, he could now appreciate what the other man must have felt; for it was like the explosion melted through him as eagerly it did the tree just beyond.

Just as Goku peered up, Freeza's teeth were in his face, the vicious snapping of the jaw resembled starving piranha. He was instantly pushed up against the destroyed trunk, the force of its weight on him into the jagged remains, claws determined to dig acutely into his belly. Quickly losing leverage as he bent back, the searing pain entered with the bark. Stern countenance honed squarely onto the tsiru's narrowed eyes, strong arms holding them apart so he could kick over and over into the weakened spot within its abdomen.

Movement caught his sight beyond their struggle. A soft coughing reached his ears as the boy first tensed his muscles from the pain and then sprawled out on his side to nudge up from the ground. Alarm reminded the man rightly why he was fighting in the first place, his child still not quite coherent to the real danger that he would be next if his father did not succeed.

"_No!_"

Risking impaling himself, the man wedged both legs into the creature's torso and forced it off of him. Scraping several meters rearward, it leaned down on all fours to pounce only to be met with another kick in the face. Jerking damaged ego from the mistake with a wobble of its head, the tsiru backed down to rethink its next approach. Pacing ensued.

A wooden spire stuck tightly into the mud at his side and Goku grabbed at it with a deepening frown. It was his turn to charge, using the thick branch like a javelin. The first attempt failed as the creature lurched to one side, readjusting itself to whip its tail into his face. Avoiding the hit, the male unexpectedly shoved the length of the stick into his enemy along with himself, knocking both to the ground. And retrieving himself quickly, he rotated the weapon to gouge it with another failure.

Freeza scurried flat into another sprawl to spring upward, but the man hacked downward again with the intent to skewer, each consecutive blow barely missing while the alien continued evading him. Exasperated, Goku rotated the branch to one side, swinging it like he had seen Yamcha do with a baseball so many times before. The first sway did nothing, but the second made deadly contact.

Its vision went black for a split second, and this was all the time the man needed to ram the creature with one end through the body and into the tree it was backed up against. Freeza grabbed onto the plant first, an expression that could not be mistaken for anything other than surprise. Then rage. Struggling against the flow and now realizing that it was jammed in place, the tsiru swiped at its enemy, riotous screams echoing throughout the mountains.

Goku backed away gradually, his breath gone, blood running down his backside and legs from lacerations gifted from the aggressor. Feeling left him as shock finally set in, even though the cries split the night to remind him of the anguish. Writhing to free itself, convinced this was not finished, the end came all too hastily though when another loud shot fired in the dark.

Then all went silent.

Deadly silent.

As the rain rushed in as a suitable background noise, Goku's dazed state took in the new hole in the alien's head. The reptile, rather small now that it was rendered motionless, hung lifelessly over a meter above the ground against the trunk. For a moment, Goku had to try very hard to think how he got it up there when it's mass felt so heavy. It's hind quarters were so powerful, he thought he had simply dragged the creature because the force opposing him was too great. Another minute passed before he could look over to the source of his victory, his breath still gone.

Tien stood there near a huddled Gohan, arm raised with the nine millimeter cocked and ready to toggle again. His face was as pale as his hair, evidence that he had seen too much. This was too much.

Goku blinked, shifting his head to where the other intruder laid. However, nothing was there and a renewed sense of panic began to set in as he visually searched the alcove and small clearing. Vegeta managed to move himself during their fight, somehow grateful that Freeza chose to let him go for the other distraction. But euphoria struck hard and the longer he sat broken against the base of the first fallen tree, the spires surrounding him providing only minor fortification, he strained to admit then and there that this was a bad mistake.

Coming here was an awfully big error.

All he could do in now was sit in silence and let the rain pour down around his limp figure as he observed the tall saiyan, the one so like his subordinate, glare in his direction. The feeling was oddly welcoming as his pain began to ebb within his numbed mind. His semi-paralyzed condition allowed him not to really care.

"Give me the gun."

Twitching, Tien thought the voice sounded familiar. And twisting his head toward the sound, he recognized it to be the most passive of the group, "What?"

The corner of Vegeta's mouth raised, a hint of concern crossing his features when he finally understood the severity of the situation. _It_ was dead. No longer moving in the downpour on the other side of the grove. Suddenly, nothing mattered anymore.

"Give me the gun." Goku repeated with an uncharacteristic tenor, his eyes still on the other male.

Absently, his friend obeyed, holding the weapon outstretched. Tenderly yet purposefully, he took the foreign object he never had meaning to use in his life before this moment, and strode headlong toward the foe that started it all. Kneeling down in front of the injured male, it was the first time Goku could clearly see his face. Although bloodied his definitions were long, hollow and defined. Aristocratic. Thin brows and delicate cheeks bones were tight, flushed from his own struggle to breathe as he held his lame arm carefully, diverted still by the view behind the tall man.

Holding the weapon up under his jaw, the question was straight forward, "Who are you?"

Vegeta continued to look at Freeza with a languid reply, "That no longer matters."

'The _fuck_ it doesn't!" Clutching what was left of the white armor, Goku thrust him up against the trunk. Tightening his grip on the handle, the response was only a blip of the wrath he felt inside, "You come into my home, you kidnap my son, hurt my wife, and dare challenge me as though I deserve this fate. Who the fuck do you think you are!"

Sensing what the man was really insinuating, Vegeta felt the barrel dig more deeply and grinned. Tilting into it, sputtering at the pain in his limbs and chest, he began chuckle more fanatically. Disturbed, Goku slammed him against the tree trunk again to halt the strange reaction, but that only served to fuel it.

Just as quickly as Vegeta burst into laughter though, it ceased with an intense gaze that threatened to hammer the man down, "Do it!"

He was egging him. Or so he thought until Vegeta drawled between another growing smirk in the dark, "and you will never know who you are."

"Goku!"

The call on the other end of the grove failed to sidetrack him, the trigger daringly close to firing. He allowed his rage to cloud his judgment for too long until the remark knocked him off kilter and back into reality. Unsure if this was an attempt to survive or some cruel gesture in last his dying wish, "Explain."

The man lulled for a moment and another slap of his back was painfully administered, "We," he tried to emphasize the word with a snicker, "We are all that's left. The legacy's dead, and it will go with me if I die."

"You're lying."

Another deep chuckle rumbled with wicked mirth, "Then do it and prove me wrong."

A calming hand touched Goku's shoulder then before a decision could be made, the smooth male voice convincing with reason in his ear, "Put it down, friend. You know you don't want to do this."

He blinked, suddenly now unsure of himself as he came out of the trance, Vegeta's words hitting home more intensely than the man keeping him in check. Pulling the weapon away from the smaller male's chin, he could finally make out Krillin's advice, "Helicopters are coming."

* * *

AN: Wow, I actually wrote _Reprisal_ and _Harbinger_ as one chapter, had to cut it into two because it was just too long! But, now we are up to speed and can continue with our regularly scheduled fanfic. Thanks for sticking with it. I hope you like how alien I made Freeza. You know, 'cause it is alien. Anyway, please leave a review:) 


	7. The Patient

**AN: I don't own anything… **Happy reading. As always **please please please REVIEW!** Your comments are music to my ears. :)

**Chapter 6: The Patient**

"This is the most recent cat scan of the patient." A blue tint blipped into focus as the doctor placed a blackened film to the right of the screen. The skull outline glowed brightly, enhancing a dark mass weaving tightly around the internal matter. Dr. Takahasi fiddled with his pen quietly, still examining it from the side while allowing the others to stare mindlessly at it.

Bulma stiffened in her chair hesitant to assume that the mass was a tumor, although it was instantly the doctor's prognosis.

"The mass is intimately associated with the cerebellum and twists out to contact all other sensory regions of the brain, specifically his sight, movement, and cognitive sectors in both the right and left hemispheres."

"It would explain his erratic behavior. Restriction and growing pressure from the mass would likely have affected his judgment in extreme situations."

"It does not stop there, Dr. Yun. The mass wraps around both sides of the temporal lobe just above his ears. Further, there are small internal traces of the same tumor that have worked their way into the frontal lobe in the right hemisphere." The doctor clicked to the next image, enlarging the rod-shaped tendrils fit like snug coils. They appeared whimsical, almost non-organic on the screen.

"Can it be removed?" Bulma's question came quietly as she eyed the image more closely.

"Ms. Kobayashi, I'm afraid not without killing him."

"How could his brain handle this large of a tumor?" She idly questioned. The mass enveloped the gray matter more than pushed it out of the way.

Mr. Yun gave a reassuring smile, "Some people live decades before realizing they have one, and only after something triggers their awareness of it. I wouldn't be surprised if he had constant headaches or muscle spasms on a regular basis."

"This may be the most serious of his condition, but it is not the only bizarre quality the patient carries." The other doctor sighed and continued through with his report. Ms. Kobayashi came to question about the new patient, and although she was one of several groups interested in the newcomer, the appearance of the heiress herself was somewhat unnerving. The murderer claimed he was not from earth and suddenly everyone came out of the woodwork. "Although his scalp is normal, he otherwise lacks body hair. He had it removed."

"How do you know it was him?" Bulma retorted.

Dr. Takahasi paused to sip his water, "I don't."

"It's likely that he did not do it to himself," Mr. Yun turned to answer the question. "The patient also lacks fingerprints, something I haven't seen outside of the military."

The woman furrowed her brow, "Why would the military remove his body hair?"

"I'm not real sure. He lacks calluses on his hands and feet. There are no moles, body marks, scars, or tattoos either, which is suggestive that whoever he is, he did not want to be recognized."

"Does he have dental records?"

"It showed up clear, as did his DNA. There is no one alive in the database that fits his profile."

"What about dead?"

"I don't have access to that." Mr. Yun smiled gently to Bulma, "Perhaps you can help us with that matter."

"His blood type is also of interest," Dr. Takahasi continued. "The hemoglobin is very unusual with a high component of magnesium rather than iron. There are no other blood types that fit this match."

Bulma already knew that this was false, but continued to stare at the CAT scan unabated. There was a clear match, and a slow dread started to enclose on her gut with the realization that this patient might be telling the truth. She turned coyly toward the psychologist, "What are you going to do with him?"

Mr. Yun glanced to her tentatively, "There is an order to take him to Tokyo for trial, since the crime was committed here. However, we first have to determine who he is and whether he is of sane capacity before a proper arraignment can occur."

"Is the militia involved?"

"I can't tell you that for certain either. It is possible that they could become involved if his origins are not resolved."

"The man claims he is not from here," Dr. Takahasi interjected. "The only suspicious aspect of him is his blood type and a large tumor he's managed to survive. If he is lucky, the court should order him an early death for what he did."

Both Bulma and Mr. Yun were struck silent with the doctor's candid response. Dr. Takahasi was first on scene when the patient arrived groggy from four tranquilizer darts, yet he was still able to fling people away from him. Although the injuries were extensive, he was awake and willing to hurt anyone in sight. Three more rounds were needed to take the small man out and left the room bloody from his resistance. If this distress was not compelling enough, the sight of the bodies that followed drove home the true intent he had.

"His story, albeit strange, is consistent with psychotic episodes reported from the military. If he cannot remember where he is from, then perhaps they have answers."

"So you believe him?"

The Korean paused thoughtfully before continuing, "His condition emphasizes extreme post traumatic syndrome. It has been observed that many war veterans tend to experience reoccurring nightmares, hallucinations, and delusions long after the trauma has occurred. It is possible that what he is describing is a twisted version of some experience he cannot escape from."

Dr. Takahasi looked back at the patient's chart, flipping through various pages recounting his version of the narrative, "So what do you suggest we take from this? The man killed four officers. He nearly killed another helpless woman in her home and kidnapped her son for no apparent reason other than the boy's father allegedly murdered his own brother."

"His motive makes no sense."

"Well, he says here-"

"I realize what he claimed," Mr. Yun cut in. "What I'm suggesting is that the attack may not have been a malicious one. The boy's father stated himself that he had no living relatives and no body is yet recovered that matches the description the patient described. The intensity in which he relays this story is as if he is reliving it in the moment. It may be a figment, but it is very real in his mind."

The practitioner scoffed in disbelief, letting the file close, "You think he's insane."

"I think he needs psychiatric treatment, yes."

"Then you will have to do a lot of convincing, Dr. Yun. IMAA has already received wind of this, and if he is a LIA soldier or whatever else he thinks he is, they will handle him the same way they handle every other convicted servant of the state."

Bulma cleared her throat, "I would like to speak this man. Privately."

The doctors jerked from their conversation having nearly forgotten her presence. Gaping turned to immediately objection, "Ms. Kobayashi, I cannot agree with this. The patient is extremely dangerous. Since he arrived, he has sent three of our own nurses to the ward and must be kept under strict sedation throughout his treatment. To be frank, we are lucky we have this information from him."

"Then tranquilize him when I see him. It doesn't matter."

Mr. Yun grimaced, "With all do respect Ms. Kobayashi, may I ask why you have taken such interest in this man?"

The woman looked up from her position and adjusted the rim of her glasses slightly with a humble smile, "I know him."

* * *

The pale blue-white fluorescent hum flickered on overhead, and Vegeta strained his eyes at the change in his environment. Last he knew he was strapped motionless to a bed, heaving and sweating with effort to flee the device. Something they gave him made him extremely weak and enforced a contrived sleep. Still, in his new seated position, he found himself unable to move. Grunting, he leaned forward as far as he could until a noose caught him. The distant clink echoed in his ears as the only indication that it was attached to the floor.

A loud electronic sound reverberated near the entrance. And then another. He could sense four individuals walking down the hallway, their heartbeats now inches away from the door. Adrenaline responded in his spine and he found new vigor to break out of his straight jacket. As the final level beep rang in his ear like the gun at a race track, the newest occupants his rabbit, he flung himself forward to nearly choke on the restraint. Without care though, he did it again, blurred hatred in his vision as tears uncontrollably welled out of their ducts. He would not be their lab rat.

A moment of silence followed and he finally coughed, slumping back into the chair. Calming sensations came over him unrealistically and he strained to hear soft mumbling from one of the individuals. Vegeta looked up as menacingly as he could manage to observe now three small people still in the doorway. Two were donned with lab coats, while the other was strikingly opposite.

"Perhaps this is not a good time. The patient is still reacting to the sedative and it may not be enough."

"I'll be fine. Please wait outside."

The female dressed in darkened colors all but seemed alien to him as he blinked several times to get a better view. She stood slender, with her lips drawn thin in apprehension. She lied to the doctors by saying she knew this man, for she had never seen him in her life before this moment.

Bulma cautiously meandered to the stool across from the patient, each step forward apparently aggravating him further. Vegeta quickly recovered from his outburst with continued struggle to free himself. The door shut behind her slowly, the monotonous sound following with a loud clank to signal the others' hasty retreat. The female was all that remained as she tried her best to keep composure while approaching the now enraged prisoner.

"My name is Bulma Kobayashi," she spoke nearly at a whisper. Vegeta stilled for a moment to take in the sentence. She knew he could understand her, but paused none the less, "I am a friend."

At first there was no response. He sat there eying her and twitched back and forth to the door and back-facing mirror of their reflection. The lights seemed to dim in her presence. Pulling his face down in a sneer, "I have no friends."

"Oh, but you do, and we are very concerned about you, Vegeta."

"You do not know me." He made fierce eye contact with her.

"Yes. I do-"

"Do not lie. I have never met you before and you do not know me." His attention turned to the reflection, "They sent you as a ploy."

Bulma breathed slowly, noting the presence of the one-way mirror, "The doctors are concerned about you. About your health. They are here to help you."

"They call this help?" Vegeta flung himself forward again, racking the tethers around his neck, "They keep me trapped in here. They drug me. They question me. They … they … poke and prod. Let me go!"

"Let me go."

"Let me go."

His fury stayed focused behind her although he was close enough to feel his breath, causing her to visibly shake. She forced her resolve to settle now rattled nerves in order to persist the query, "Well, you have been violent, Vegeta. They must do something to protect themselves when you burst out like this."

He shifted his line of sight back to her, "I will kill all of you."

"No, you will not." She kept keen to remain in eye contact while she straightened herself on the stool, "Do you know why you are here?"

Vegeta clenched his jaw and labored his breathing. Very quietly, he answered, "He is dead."

Bulma quirked an eyebrow, "Several men are dead. And a woman is very injured because of you. You kidnapped her boy, do you not remember?"

He snorted, "They got in my way."

"In the way of what? What did they do to you?"

He suddenly appeared unsure as if he was asking himself the same thing. In truth, he did not exactly know why he snapped. But now, everyone was dead and he was the only one left to tell of the massacre before Nirrikii's forces arrived to blame him for the deed. "It no longer matters. Freeza is dead and so am I."

"There is no Freeza." She spoke as calmly as she could.

He shook his head slightly not comprehending.

"There is no Freeza. There is no ship. No bodies. No aliens that you so described. These things are not real, Vegeta."

His expression went from shock to disgust as he renewed attempts to undue the jacket, "You are lying!"

Bulma shook her head and spoke slowly, "Do you know what is going to happen to you?"

"Shut up! You are lying to me and you _know_ it!"

"Vegeta, you are going to be tried for murder under the jurisdiction of the United Government's People. There, you will be sentenced to carry out a judgment. Do you understand?"

Clearly, he did not. To him, her statement was a lulled rhetoric easily reduced to a single word: death. Or worse. There were always things worse than death. In vain he struggled to get free, the toxins in his blood stream eager to eat him alive it seemed. His outburst could only last so long before dizziness crept up and forced him into sleep again. Why now after all this time, did he have to have such lousy fucking luck?

"Vegeta," Bulma's soft voice snapped him back to attention, "I can help you."

"No," his voice trembled slightly in response, "there is no help."

"These doctors do not believe you are who you say you are." She paused, "But others do."

"What does it matter?" He snapped.

Her volume crashed as she leaned forward slightly into his gaze, "There are individuals very interested in who you are. You are an oddity to us."

He stopped thrashing and resumed eying her warily, "What do you mean?"

"If these people buy your story, then there is little I can do to help you."

Suspicious, his eyes narrowed, "This is a ploy. Your are lying to me."

"No. I am not. If these people find you, then you will never be free. They will dissect you and test you and drug you far worse than these doctors. Do you understand?"

Vegeta's breath constricted around his chest, unable to quite believe what she was saying. These people could not be that ignorant to Nirrikii's presence.

"I can take you away from this. I can help you," Bulma coed, "But only if you let me."

A long silence wedged into the room and Vegeta found it more difficult to escape her words. If she was right, then either way there was no way out. "You think I am sick."

Her blue eyes stung him into submission and he forced his vision back down to the ground with growing acceptance. There were definitely things worse than death. Bulma knelt forward inches away from the bound predator, her tone brimmed with pity, "No. I know better."

All expression left him and he slowly met an equally blank void. The woman simply stared back at him with an intensity that matched. Her small frame crept back to her position and she stood up after a brief moment. The door clicked, followed by the flat tone. Two large men again peered in the doorway, one with a gun in his hand.

"My time is limited." The woman murmured, her eyes still fastened to the patient's forehead, "Call me when you are ready."

All he heard were her footsteps toward the doorway before the snap from the rifle.

* * *

His body told him he was out for one, perhaps two solar days. There were no windows or clocks to provide affirmation of course, only a severe headache and tenderness around his neck reminding him of the last time he was awake. Slowly, Vegeta opened his eyes and tilted his head to the side. He was returned to the familiar cage before his conversation with the stranger, drugged and hungry from the struggle. White padded walls and a blank floor. A bowl with water to one side, its purpose of which he was still unsure. He leaned uncomfortably on the flat near the rear of the room. His bones recalled how he was carelessly tossed there. Whoever they were, they feared him and that was his only consolation.

The female seemed to speak to him as if she personally knew him. She knew his name, and she was instructive of what he was about to experience if he did not start playing along. However, her behavior suggested too that she was not associated with the other individuals performing their experiments on him. Her eyes were distressed beyond simple fear the gunmen exposed when firing their weapons prior to entering his enclosure. She was warning him of something, but he was uncertain as to what.

The doctors did well to fake that they did not believe him and refused to take his account of what happened. He surmised that they either did not recognize him or were not willing to let him believe this explanation as true, for they also disregarded his warnings of Nirrikii when she would inevitably discover her cousin's ill-timed death by stating she did not exist at all. Why he cared so much suddenly about the welfare of the Razukin Federation, he could not fathom beyond that he knew he would be pinned with the blame so they could miss the repercussion. Conceivably, this was their way of retribution after all his kind's interference, however unintentional it was on his part.

This made no sense though. The Saiyan claimed that he knew nothing about Radditz. In fact, he seemed to have absolutely no knowledge of his origins and was all too alarmed by his appearance. Everyone was. Admittedly, Vegeta was behaving in ways unconventional to his normal routine. Never would he have ever considered sacrificing his own men for revenge over superiors' orders. But here he was, sitting in a tank, waiting for 'judgment' in all of its intents and purposes, and the last subordinates he so carefully guarded were gone.

He fucked up.

Even so, the planet he landed on was also abnormal. These razukins were not like any terrestrial faction he encountered in the past. Their language was too foreign and he detected multiple dialects between the saiyan and the other smaller razukins following him, let alone the doctors picking him apart. There was a bizarre word that kept resurfacing throughout his short conversations with one of the scientists referencing to their race as _human_. The saiyan said the same thing, adding insult to injury in denying his own affinity to Radditz by calling himself one. This could be their faction title. If so, then it was small and unknown to the rest of the Planet Trade.

Pain pierced his left temple and he groaned inaudibly. He still wore the white contraption around his torso fastening his shoulders in place. Rolling off of the flat, Vegeta readjusted his arms more comfortably and sat up on his aching knees. A reflection faced him on the opposite side of his tiny square, alerting him of his spectators. This technique of watching subjects physically was rudimentary. Why had they not tapped into his head yet? They were unsettlingly intrigued with him and continued their tortures long after his injuries were handled, quietly recording his movements behind the safety of a titanium partition.

Gradually, he pulled himself upright, casually tracing the indented matting along the base of the wall. Bulma was the female's name. She told him to call for her when he was ready. Vegeta instinctively understood that she lied to get in; it was nearly imprinted on her. She also implied that his story was accurate, however indirect this acknowledgement was. Uneasy thoughts rumbled, cautiously weighing the option of blindly trusting what she had to offer him. She said she could remove him from this place. That she could save him from the consequences of his own actions, a new avenue for escape. For a moment, he pondered if he deserved this. If he wanted it. Even in the event of his flight, there was nowhere for him to go. He could feel the toothy grin and orders slicing through the creature's throat to find him, exterminating all of them until he was found.

Once a prize. Now a threat.

An ironic justice, he supposed, since he was not the one who killed the relative. He just sat there hunched, watching the ordeal unfold as the weapon was toggled and a splay of its blood and cranial tissue hit the tree. All screeching from Freeza vanished in an instant only to be replaced by the downpour of rain. An eerie silence followed. So long that he forgot where he was, but was disallowed his opportunity to revel in the moment as the same weapon was thrust under his chin by the rival he came here to defeat. For the first time, he felt hatred from the saiyan thrashed back at him. Vegeta secretly wished the trigger was pulled as he called the man's bluff, but he apparently was too gutless to follow through. This plan was more ingenious, he had to give credit.

Following the matting around the corner, Vegeta came to the mirror edge. He could only sense one person behind the shield, and he half wondered how little he needed to do to promote angst in the vicinity. In fear came control and there was a chance that it was unnecessary to play their game if he could simply make them run with an effortless glare. He Vegeta peered up dissonantly to the minute movement. If this female could get him away without incident, then perhaps he could hide until he figured out something to do. Perhaps his best choices lie in the Omega Sector, where undoubtedly other enemies await. A young assistant sat on the other side of the glass, unnoticing of the patient's consciousness. Silently, he fidgeted with a magazine as rhythm thumped through his headphones. A flickered image bounced off the corner of his eye and he nudged up to the slightly bent man staring at him. Vegeta grinned evilly, pinpointing the fear, and followed as the individual lurched to his right.

The assistant began to pick up the receiver and ring in reinforcements when the patient cut him off with a calm, deep voice. He halted long enough to directly transfix on piercing eyes, the phone already at his ear, "I would not do that if I were you. I wish to speak with Bulma."

* * *

Bulma raised the courage to enter the hospital. Seeing the man who so brutally injured Chichi paradoxically made her less eager for this conversation. He was feral and an abandoned thought reached out that the whole situation was reminiscent of science fiction flicks she so enjoyed. To her dismay, this was dangerously real and the significance of his arrival could potentially blow the concept of human isolation, the comforting reality that they were alone in the universe, out of the water. She carefully tidied the scene so that no one found Vegeta's monsters, but failed to catch him in time before the National Police retrieved the prisoner in her hospital. Since then, all parties were warded away from the patient and doctors began their thorough examination.

She flew in immediately to ask questions herself. She order blood tests to check the resemblance between Goku and this phantom brother, only now realizing striking similarities the two possessed in the autopsy report. She should have told him. She should have confessed the day his blood came back out of the ordinary all those years ago. She cringed at the memory of her close friend dying in a bed, the virus eating at his veins with his son as the only cure. She wanted to believe that this abnormality was just a coincidence of the radiation. Mutations were everywhere generations after the fallout, and his intricacies were nothing unusual. But that failed to explain other bizarre aspects of his amnesia, his abilities, and a long forgotten tail they removed shortly after meeting each other.

Wringing her hands nervously, she thought of Chichi's response to this news as she sauntered down the hall to her door. What would it be like to discover that your lover, most cherished friend, was not what he seemed? The woman furrowed a brow at the crazy realization that these beings were so physically and genetically similar to them. Different species cannot reproduce. Nothing viable anyway, which meant that these creatures and any offspring produced, despite the unique disparity, were related to humans in some fashion. And this idea changed the entire notion of whom and what humans were. More the reason to hide it.

"Son-kun? Chichi?" A slender knock whisked the doorframe.

A long pause followed and Bulma reached up to tap again when a cool sway of the metal entry pulled away to reveal an exhausted, bandaged Goku. He focused down on her and smiled broadly, "Hey. I wasn't expecting you for a couple of days."

She warmly responded and held up the peace offering grasped tightly under her arm, "How are you holding up?"

A nod followed, "Alright, I suppose. Chichi just woke up and I'm sure she would be excited to see you."

Bulma hesitantly considered the gesture into the room, while spotting Chichi meekly adjusting herself for the attention. Small balloons dotted the space with cheerful notes wishing the family a speedy recovery. A vase, stocked with bright yellow flowers, encumbered the window to one side and several more baskets lined the bedside with well-to-dos. She was the last to come, as per norm. She tugged a grin and embrace her friend's wife lightly without causing pain, murmuring, "I'm so glad to see you better."

The small woman tilted down in a typical Japanese manner, clasping her hands and bowing as best she could in her bed, "Thank you for the gift. You did not have to do that."

This received a chuckle and hand wave as Bulma dismissed the overly polite behavior, "It's nothing, so don't do that. I'm just happy that you're awake and talking to us."

Chichi suffered immensely from Vegeta's attack. One simple movement thrust her through the wall and crushed a portion of the ceiling on top of her. The last thing she recalled was hearing him say something in Japanese to her son, in effect warning him not to run. The knife fast in the door jam, where it landed. Guilt hit hard when she awoke to find her child missing, her husband somewhere other than by her side, and the nurses did everything short of sedation to keep her calm and immobile.

"Where is Gohan?" Bulma asked casually.

Goku responded before Chichi could get visibly upset, "He's with Roshi Sensei until we get everything settled. We still need to fix the mess at the house and the doctors won't let Chichi leave until we have somewhere to stay."

"I'll make arrangements after I leave." Bulma felt silly for not doing it sooner. She was too preoccupied with finding answers that she forgot this detail. "How is he?"

"Shaken."

Chichi tried to hide the tears, but several slipped over the dam before she could discretely wipe them clean. Ashamed, she focused on her cover in effort to phase out the topic.

Goku unconsciously rubbed her back nervously glancing at Bulma, "So what did you find?"

Immediately, she could feel her heart tense and she stared at Chichi, "Perhaps this isn't the best occasion, Goku. Your wife needs to recover and we have plenty of tim-"

"No," Chichi returned her gaze, finally seizing the stray water from her cheek, "I want to know what happened."

She swallowed her now dry mouth and prepared herself, "I had tests run on everyone, including Goku and Gohan and the three others."

Bulma paused for a long moment, unable to push herself to say it.

Goku narrowed his eyes in confusion and gave a knowing nudge, trying his best to remain positive, "Bulma, just spill it."

"He is telling the truth," She croaked. "Three of the five results were similar enough to be considered related – yours and Gohan of course, plus whatever his name was. Radditz, I think. And although the DNA is significantly different with respect to the other two, Vegeta specifically," the name tasted bitter on her tongue, "you all have the same blood abnormality and specific genes that relate you to a larger group. These genes are not found among other," she hitched shakily and unblinking, "humans."

Goku paled, breath unable to enter his lungs. Chichi remained still, worrying the sheets between her fingers, "How could this be? Are you saying my husband is not human?"

Bulma avoided eye contact with her to finish, "Radditz and the other individual also had tails. In hindsight," she added with a weak smile, "there is a resemblance between you two that is difficult to deny."

Goku let go of Chichi and slowly gathered himself at the window. A renewed uncertainty crossed his face, sparked with anger and agony. Bulma could only breathe for him and wheedled herself up to talk her childhood friend through the pain.

"I am so sorry," she consoled. "I don't how to explain it any other way. We all saw what he came with. These things cannot be made up."

He ignored her in his shock, eyes cast down with a hand clutching the back of his scalp. For the first time in his life, he had not a clue as to what to do, and an unbearable silence remained with distant hospital duties performed outside the door as a reminder of where they were.

"You knew…" Bulma clenched her eyes shut at Chichi's abnormally serene tone. She continued to stare forward, now clamping her nails into the bedspread, "You knew all that time ago and said nothing."

"I knew something was wrong with your husband," Bulma confessed defensively, "I had no idea it was this."

Chichi's eyes twitched toward her and squinted viciously. This was exactly what Bulma feared, "You lied to us."

"No. No," she shook her head lightly. "I had no intentions of lying to you."

"You told us he was ok."

"He is."

Chichi huffed, pushing down a sob as she turned away.

"What is going to happen to him?" Goku broke in quietly, still not tearing from the window.

Bulma jolted back, chewing on her lower lip, "There are several possibilities. The government has already heard of his claims and is interested in testing him further to see if he's honest."

"They have whatever he and that other thing came in, shouldn't that be enough?"

Bulma bit her lip harder and remained stoic.

"He told me some things. Some very disturbing things," he inhaled slowly, as though it would be his last if he accepted her admission. Bulma leaned against the glass with her shoulder to hear better, "He said that I was the last of my kind. By killing him, I was destroying my legacy." He turned to her more fully, subtle rage etching his features, "It is the only thing that stopped me from pulling that trigger."

Bulma glanced away uncomfortably, knowing full well how badly he wanted this now confirmed alien dead for hurting his wife. Endangering his son, "Do you think he can tell you anything?"

His eyes blank, "I don't know. I'd like to question him at some point."

"What do you need me to do?" She already knew the answer.

"Arrange a meeting."

"I'm afraid it's not that simple. If the government takes him, no one will see him. To the public, he technically doesn't exist, and you know as well as I how they would prefer to keep it that way. If he is put to trial, it could be months or years before sentencing, and again no one will be privileged to see him outside of family."

"Say I'm family," Goku insisted.

"It doesn't work that way. You are a witness and you are not related."

Frustration was becoming more apparent as he turned away in near physical discomfort. If he had known, things could have turned out differently, "Bulma, I don't know what to do."

She held herself still, contemplating if she should tell him about her plans. She hated to see him in such pain, especially when she had the power to do something. Interestingly, she had ultimate control over what determined the prisoner's fate. Thus far, no one knew the of incident beyond those present during and after the kidnapping as well as various authorities. The media never became aware and several political advisees were already notified to give her complete access to the man. Her influence could easily persuade his claims unjustified and simply remove him from the picture. Final touches on the remaining bodies with black and red tape reporting a bizarre animal attack, and he was all hers.

She rested a trembling hand on his shoulder, kneeling her head down to get his attention, "I could help him."

Goku and Chichi turned to her with their full concern, "What?"

"I could have him transferred to another facility. I could keep an eye on him and from there make an arrangement."

Her friend gawked back incredulously. Abruptly, so many questions came forth, "Why? How? W-where?"

"You can't be serious," Chichi shook her head, shocked and enraged with the proposition.

Bulma remained on Goku, "It wouldn't in this country, and it would most likely be a while before you get to see him. It is the best I can do."

The other woman seethed, her lips contorting and tears falling uncontrolled. Betrayal evident with every word, "Where is my justice?"

Bulma turned to her, somewhat stunned by the hatefulness Chichi suddenly exhibited. Goku sifted his eyes, seriously considering with blind trust what she was offering. After a moment, he looked toward Chichi, "What if we are the last? What do I tell Gohan?"

"You tell him _nothing_." Her voice raggedly replied.

"I can't do that, Chi!" He dropped his hands angrily, "He was there, and he heard _exactly_ what Vegeta said."

"Then, let it go!" Chichi yelled back, her body racked with her fit, "Tell him he was wrong! Tell him that he's normal!"

Goku stopped and glared with wide-eyes at his wife. A myriad of expressions flicked his face, although a surprisingly calm voice betrayed the obvious emotion, "How could you say that?"

She couldn't look at him, and instead huddled into a painful ball on her bed. Shame, anger, sadness all poured out of her with the roaring comprehension that her life just fell apart.

"Perhaps I should leave." Bulma gathered her things near the door and turned to nod in farewell with a swift withdraw. It was clear that she should have waited to discuss this with her friend. Goku barely noticed her leave as he sat silently back down across from his companion, the most aching fear clamped on his heart.

* * *

AN: On a side note, I realized I changed Bulma's name. But there is a reason for it – Kobayashi is a corporate name, while Briefs if the private family name. You'll find out more as you read. So, please **review** and do your homework! 


	8. The Transfer

**AN: I don't own anything. Please read and review. :)**

**Chapter 7: The Transfer**

There was a long conversation as to whether Vegeta should be bound during his transfer. A week past since she conversed directly with him, the second time without shackles. Beneath his restraints, he was a surprisingly small man. Deceivingly delicate. And although a sullen expression graced his sharp features, he handled himself elegantly. He ceased his aggressive behavior and was relatively polite with her questions while the other doctors assessed his healed wounds. Mr. Yun was still fairly concerned about how genuine his patient was responding, but allowed the idea from Bulma that his psychosis could be wearing off, pulling him back into reality. She reassured him that Vegeta was being transferred to a high maintenance private facility, where he could be observed at all times in case of another relapse.

Bulma eventually refuted the proposal because she felt that it would become more difficult to win his approval. In time, this translated into less of his help when it came to the newly acquired equipment sitting in her docking bay. Between Vegeta and the other two alien groups, she managed to recover three intact ships, plus an assortment of other devises. Full investigations were already commencing on the corpses, cataloging their unique physiology in addition to the multitude of internal augmentations. Each sequential report suggested some sort of cyborg-like infrastructure centering on the spinal cord. However, the implants were distinctly non-mechanical, rather organic composites blending discretely with whatever part of the body it was found in. Further, all of the creatures aside from the one Vegeta called "Freeza" had similar masses intermingled with their basal brain and Bulma finally accepted that this was not a tumor. One report emphasized two small, round holes at the nape of the neck on one of the bodies, which was described as "two port-like structures similar to input-output docks for audio cables." A smile brushed her lips.

The most pressing issue was whether he would snap on the flight or at any other point during the transfer. Therefore, in case of emergency she carried a strong tranquilizer with her at all times, as did the rest of her attendants. It was enough to kill an elephant, she presumed. Her personal jet landed in a small regional airport. Two armored cars were transporting him as she readied the aircraft for immediate flight after he was on board. They would fly from their station to another regional port north of Shanghai and change planes, this time only the two of them. It was risky, but somehow she felt innately secure.

When she saw him emerge from the vehicle, he was handcuffed and stark against the dark green and white uniforms. His unruly black hair whipped around in the wind as he squinted and cowed his face from the sunlight. Bulma swore that he could be no taller than she and curiosity burned at how such a tiny individual could exhibit the immense strength reported by Goku and the others.

She greeted him with a nod and smile at the shuttle door, adjusting her lenses back up to her eyes. Direct contact was momentary, yet reserved only for her as his unblinking coal colored irises seemingly nailed her to the hull. A corner of his mouth raised and he tilted slightly as another hand reached out to the top of his head and guided him inside.

Bulma saluted to the lead officer and sent him on his way. Within an hour, they were back in the air, cargo in hand. Vegeta was seated comfortably, although took in the movement of the craft with caution. They gave him a window to peek out of as Japan's mountainous scenery unfolded before him.

"Where are we going?" He questioned as Bulma quietly observed him from her reversed seat.

"We are going to a place called China. It's not far beyond the seaway."

He subtly quirked a brow, contently watching the clouds whirl by.

"May I ask you a question?"

No reply came.

After an awkward pause, she pressed again, "How do you know my language? So far, I heard you speak several and according to you, you haven't been here more than a month."

Still, no reply.

Impatience tingled at the base of her hairline and she thought briefly of shutting the window to get his attention. He gave a side-glance, but remained still, resulting in an uneasy feeling Bulma had to pushed aside to keep an even tone, "Guko told me that you-"

"The saiyan?" He interrupted.

"Yes … his name is Guko."

"That is not a saiyan name."

She swallowed, "It may not be, but that is the name he was given."

He looked back to the window, ignoring the question, and the awkward silence resumed.

"So, where are you really from?"

"Tell me, don't you think what you are doing is rather dangerous?" His voice was disturbingly smooth, fluent even. He turned to her more fully, a blank slate unreadable from her end. Bulma stiffened warily, unintentionally giving away the anxiety, returned with an even more intimidating stare. Luckily, she did not falter or look away, rather chose to focus on the fact that his eyes were not as dark as she initially surmised. They were slightly lighter than coal, "Are you not afraid that I will escape?"

"I have no reason to be afraid."

Vegeta grinned and blinked, relaxing his features as he leaned forward, "You know what I am capable of?"

"I know that you only killed one of those men." She returned immediately, "I know that you are running from something and that one of the bodies I have in my possession you are distinctly afraid of."

She hit a nerve, "You do know she will come after you, and I will not take the fall."

Cocking her head to the side, "I don't understand."

"You will do nothing but hurt the Alliance with this move."

_He thinks we are one of them_. She gasped and sat back in her seat, the sudden epiphany catching her off guard. She rubbed her temple trying to quickly think, "Look, I don't know who or what you think I am, but I can assure you that no one on this planet knows what you are beyond me and a few privileged people."

He sat up, a scowl on his face. The doctors had been repeating something very similar since he came into their custody, intermingled with additional denial of his story, "You know of Freeza then?"

"And Nirrikii," she mispronounced the name as it fell clumsily off her tongue. "I know everything about you. At least what you told the doctors."

"Then why are you helping me?"

"I was hoping you could assist me," she calmed a bit, "Teach me about where you come from. As I said, you are an oddity to us."

Vegeta shook his head lightly, his uncertainty sending warning signals of distrust, "I need to get off of this planet."

"I'm afraid that is not possible. We don't have the means to let you leave."

"If you know of Freeza, then you also know of his ship."

"Yes. It was badly damaged and I do not have the technology to repair it for flight."

"What about the others?"

"I do not have access to those." Cleverly worded, Bulma had possession of them, but still was not able to open them. The large, silver orbs displayed no mark for entry nor did they contain windows of any sort. The hull was seamless as well, with not a single line indicating the molding between two sheets of metal. They were hollow, shiny balls, "Not to be rude, but you don't seem eager to want to leave."

"Do not assume that you know me."

"Oh, I don't. But you are tormented with the idea that you have nowhere left to flee to. 'There is no help.'"

He glared at her, "What will you do when Nirrikii comes?"

"How do you know that she will come?"

No reply came.

Bulma sighed internally and readjusted herself in the chair, "Vegeta, I want to help you. I am not here to hurt you or test you. In exchange for some information, you can have all the freedom you desire. I have a feeling that this Nirrikii either does not know of, "she paused, "of Freeza's death, or she does not know where he is."

He snorted, "You're naïve."

"You are probably right." She smiled sweetly, her pale skin pink with humility and irritation, "But think of it this way, if Nirrikii knew of where Freeza was, don't you think she would be here by now? After all, Freeza made a rather quick appearance. Kind of like he was on your tail, so-to-speak."

Vegeta returned to his solemn expression, resting back in the chair while carefully inspecting the woman for any sign of dishonesty. It was impressive that she was able to keep a straight face while pulling bluff after bluff. Perhaps there was some truth to her offer, "What kind of help do you want?"

"Knowledge," was her simple reply.

Their flight only lasted an hour before they landed on a short runway along the coast. White birds flew overhead and a strong scent of a salty mixture saturated the air. The heavy hull door flipped open to slam the travelers with the humid afternoon heat, and each exited single file into a small vehicle transporting them to the next site. Two planes were parked near the rear of the airport, to which the woman eagerly approached one and dismissed her crew.

Bulma carefully tied her hair into place and rested a firm grip on the gear wheel. Antique cessna planes were her favorite and she felt powerful with renewed techno-savviness as the small engine vibrated beneath her, the basic controls obstructing her view. It was like flying blind, she sat so low.

"We are going to fly for a while, just the two of us, and then travel the rest of the way by vehicle." She returned to her passenger, stretching her voice above the engine. Vegeta nodded but clutched the control panel unexpectedly as the plane nudged forward, "Sorry. These old hunks of metal are sometimes jerky during takeoff."

The man breathed erratically, unnerved by the bizarre machine, and a strange closterphobic response took him over even though he was used to small spaces. Rattling from the wheelbase shook him literally and made it all appear smaller. Bulma flicked a switch, and muttered something almost unintelligible into a round mic. The machine stopped, an odd sensation pulling Vegeta to the side. A loud, flat tone came out of a speaker in front of him and his breath hitched, eyes wide. The woman then briefly responded, flicking another switch and sat back. The plane lurched forward with much greater speed this time, pinning both occupants in their seats. A wry grin encroached on her face as the cessna's underbelly vibrated more consistently, moments later quieting as the wheels left the platform. This was replaced by wobbling before a smooth balance returned in the cockpit, the hum from the engine providing a deep even tone like a gigantic singing bowl.

Vegeta was subconsciously trembling. He stilled his hands and wiped the sweat from his forehead, calming his breathing as he did so. To his side, the flat expanse of the coastline widened as they first flew over the ocean and turned back inland. Small buildings dotted the surface surrounded by open brown and green terraces, increasing in abundance and congestion off on the horizon.

Now alone, Bulma spent some time educating him in how "humans" had no awareness of extraterrestrial life. They were blissfully ignorant to their place in the universe, accepting the idea that Earth, as she called it, was a rare gem. Vegeta restrained himself from chuckling at the irony. He landed on a primitive, remote planet. A water planet, no less, the Planet Trade of which conveniently missed on their ever expanding tirade to control the galaxy. He messaged the headache, trying to unplug his ears as the plane subtly changed altitude along its course. Apparently, his arrival sparked interest that could rock the foundation of their insignificant values. Bulma, although one of the very interested groups, was also hesitant to let him loose among the rest of her kind and desired to keep his existence their little secret for the time being.

Several hours later they landed in a dirty field, bouncing roughly twice upon touchdown. He was more prepared to handle it, although still impatient to exit the contraption for safety of the ground. A small building with several similar planes lined the so-called landing strip on one end and a dark, small man came running toward Bulma. She accepted his welcome excitedly, shaking his hand with a slight bow and spoke in another dialect Vegeta could not understand. The older fellow looked to him and smiled sheepishly. Bowing more frequently, he clasped his hand with natural ease and guided Vegeta back into the brick house. A hot thermos with tea was poured into clear flimsy cups and offered to both of them.

"Who is he?" Vegeta quietly demanded, hesitant to take the greenish substance.

"This is Mr. Zhang," Bulma motioned, "He takes care of the airport here. Drink your tea. It's good for you."

He snapped toward her, "I'm not drinking anything."

She gulped the rest of hers down and seized his discarded cup off the table. It was hot as evidenced by the shrill scream of cicadas outside. Mr. Zhang had already prepared her car, stocking it with water and thermoses for the trip. Additionally, he pulled out a large plastic bag, the smell enticing her mouth to water. She loved his wife's sticky buns.

"Aya! Xiexie xiexie a," Bulma carefully took the package and sifted through it before placing it on the passenger seat. "Nin zui hao, xiexie a."

The old man shrugged it off with a speedy slurred response, Vegeta could hardly keep track of. He instead turned resentfully toward the small hills beyond the airport. Small rotten shacks stood encircled by tall green stalks.

"Ready?" The woman motioned to the right side of the vehicle.

"Where are we going?"

"A little ways over the hill. Come on." She urged again, opening the door and pointing to the seat before buckling herself in and starting the engine. Sweat was already pooling down her shirt and nostalgia of the last time she made this trip during the summer returned to her quickly. "We've traveled quite a bit today." She glanced over to him. The heat seemed to affect him less, "You are handling it better than I thought."

He gave an irritated glance, "I am adaptable enough. I want to know where this 'high maintenance facility' is."

Bulma simpered, "Adaptable, huh? Is that your new word for the day?"

He readjusted himself as she sped over several bumps on the dirt road, "Where are we going?"

"There is no high maintenance facility, Vegeta. I'm taking you someplace familiar to me, where you can have some quiet and hide out," she sighed and peered at him out of the corner of her eye, "It's what you want, isn't it?"

"Blindly taken to an unknown destination is not what I had in mind," he muttered.

"I can't have you in a city at the moment. No offense, but as you said yourself, this is dangerous. Besides," she added, "it's only polite to show you my culture before you show me yours."

The roads wound around the hills like lazy snakes, passing farms and tiny towns up a narrow valley. A large river was visible in the distance near where they began the road trip and a thick haze took over the skyline as proof of the relentless humidity. Old white buildings similar to the one at the airport were stacked against the road, all surrounded by terraced farmland canvassing the slopes like green rugs. People stepped out onto their doorway to eye the passing vehicle, inspecting its passengers with a nod or squinting glare. Bulma ignored the onlookers, only occasionally giving a brief wave and smile to the few she openly recognized. None of them looked remotely like the woman, her long red tresses and pale skin contrasted brightly against the olive toned, dark hair of the inhabitants. Upon first glance, they appeared outwardly similar to those Vegeta attacked, yet aged as though their life was spent under much harder conditions.

Bulma continued on, climbing past the gorge onto a plateau. Fewer villages existed here, emphasized further by the deterioration of their path. Overgrowth hampered her vision as trees scraped against the windows. An orchestra of insects played as loudly as the engine, heralding their coming in the distance. Eventually, though, the narrow path widened out into a meadow. A rotten building hung on the edge, in which the driver veered off toward their final destination.

"This is it," she said with finality, stretching her back as she exited the jeep. She extended her arms toward the stucco white brick box as though she were presenting a trophy. The structure, once a house, was long since neglected as dust piled on eroded beams that at some point belonged to the roof.

"You're just going to leave me here?" Vegeta asked skeptically, eying the heap and surrounding hillside. It was so easy to run from this vantage point and he was becoming ever more confused as to her intentions.

Bulma only responded with a genuine smile and nod while scooping up a flower along the roadside. She returned it to her nose and looked at the building, "It's not much, but it would allow you something to do with your time for a while."

"What am I supposed to do with this?"

"You're adaptable, so adapt. Rebuild this shack. Take a job." she turned back to him and pointed an index finger with a twitch, "I can help you with that. Get to know who these people are and forget where you come from for a while. If you can behave here, then I'll take you back to the city."

He belted a laugh at the ludicrousness of her suggestion, "You actually think I'm going to stay here, unguarded, and 'behave' like a trained thing for your amusement?"

She raised an eyebrow, "I'm not expecting anything from you at the moment. But, if you are going to survive among these people, driving fear isn't going to work. They are not afraid of anything, Vegeta. They've seen enough throughout the generations as it is, so if you want to elicit help with a superior attitude, I guarantee it will fail."

"You realize I could kill you," he stated it matter-of-factly more as a reminder for himself. "I could kill all of these people and leave."

"Sure you could. I have no doubt," Bulma strolled into the shack and turned to him under the shade. It was so much cooler there, "But what would that prove? You don't know where you are and you have no means by which to leave. You have no information as to where to go, so why make the effort?"

He lowered his eyes dangerously, "Do you not value your life, or are you just that stupid?"

She smiled, "Neither."

"Then you obviously do not value the lives of the people that reside here. Do not do this."

"Why are you fighting my gift?" She observed him quizzically, "I don't have to do this. I could just as easily lock you away."

He hissed and snapped a piece of abandoned wood with a strategically levered foot, "Are you threatening me?"

"I am bestowing you an opportunity," Bulma chided. Carefully, she tucked her hands into her pants, picking at the tranquilizer for support. "If you don't want to take it, then by all means we can leave right now and I can take you to a real facility. You are already familiar with what that is like."

"Then why aren't you?" His question blurted out with more emotion than intended. Fuming, he walked around the house to better assess the damage.

Bulma cautiously followed, "I'm not the type of person who simply locks others away for the sole benefit of getting information from them. A friend of mine is also interested in your security and asked me to take care of you."

He stopped and turned to her, "What friend?"

"You are lucky he is so understanding, considering what you did to his wife and son. If it were me, I would have taken your nuts off."

He shrugged, unsure of her use of the word "nut," "So, this Goku has control over your decisions?"

She sniggered, "No. But I hate to see my friends in pain when I can do something to help them."

"Then you are fool." Vegeta turned away again, kicking at the grass as he walked. As distrusting as he was of the offer, she was right in that he had little other recourse. Killing or threatening the people surrounding him would do little to help him leave, especially if she truly lacked the means. Their quaint technology said as much. He was tired of massacres. Heaving a sigh in resignation, "What do I need to do?"

Bulma smiled with relief and ushered him back into the shade.

* * *

"You what?!" The man exclaimed so loudly that patrons near the foursome veered their heads to check out what all the fuss was about. Tien and Chaozu glared at their friend as he just about lost control of his bowls.

"Will ya keep it down," Tien snatched a chip off his plate and glanced around the busy intersection. "Geez, it's bad news, but whole fucking world doesn't need to know about it."

"Bulma," he stopped to study the small woman's stern exterior before walking into her fury, "are you stupid?"

"Fuck you, Yamcha!" Bulma let down her sandwich with a huff. Muttering about the futility of telling him publicly, she cleaned off her sodden hand now drizzled with the broiled meat, "You wanted to know."

Yamcha yanked open his mouth in absolute shock, "I wanted to know that the freak was in prison, not somewhere in the backwater of China. God damn, don't you know what he can do?"

"He's fine and he won't hurt anyone," she snapped.

"Really, and how do you know this?"

"He promised me."

A gurgled laugh exited his mouth and Yamcha closed his eyes as he could no longer handle the inanity in her logic, "Oh please. You know, you really misuse your rich-girl power. Does your family know what you do with your allowance money?"

Bulma sat up mid-bite and seethed at him. Clutching the messy bread in her hand, she quickly shoved it into Yamcha's face, rubbing downward to the open shirt, "See how all your whores like this!"

"Alright, stop it!" Tien reached to separate them. The waiter magically appeared seconds later to hastily collect the wasted dishes.

"Bulma," Chaozu quietly interjected, an uncomfortable expression guiding his hesitation, "he has a point. I mean … you weren't there."

Returning herself to a more dignified seated position, Bulma sourly tidied herself. If she had a choice, she would have remained with the alien just so that their insecurities were remedied. Sadly, though, duties beckoned her back out across the world as the company's marketing spokesperson. Ms. Kobeyashi's charismatic, and more importantly successful, business negotiations for her father allowed her the luxury of insane travel, incessant deadlines, and a line of new capsules to promote that were not even out of theoretical blueprinting yet. Her only respite from the mauling grasp of the media was when she hid in her ornate penthouses and escaped out of the service entrance wigless, glass-less, and in entirely more comfortable attire. And here she was, on a street corner with her "friends" while they openly ambushed her based on their ignorant assumptions of what she knew. Her fuse was getting short.

"Look, I didn't come out here and have lunch with you guys to get verbally assaulted. Goku asked me to help him, so I helped him."

"By letting him loose?" Yamcha sneered, taking off his soiled shirt.

She breathed slowly, trying to find a polite response, "I didn't let him loose. I have a house out there and can keep an eye on him."

"When? How? Bulma, this makes no sense."

Tien stretched his shoulders, preparing himself to enter the fight, "You know, he can leave. There is nothing stopping him from going to a city, Bulma."

She snapped back to him in irritation, "Then he'll have to walk pretty far. Have you been to China? Cars are even a rare thing out there nowadays, and it's not like the local villagers are going to be friendly to him for a while."

"Oo, they better careful. Not giving him a ride could mean disembowelment."

"Yamcha, quit egging her on." Tien chastised. Dealing with them was like being a parent with two similarly aged siblings both vying for attention.

"I'm not going to stop!" he countered angrily and turned back to his lecturing mode of discussion, "You should have turned him back into the authorities."

_I am the authority, dick_. Bulma chewed on her straw, glowering at the wannabe bad boy. Abruptly, she slammed her cup down and gathered her things to leave, "I don't know why I associate with you sometimes."

"Why? Because we have more common sense than you have brains," Yamcha reared, causing his companions to immediately jolt away from him. He, unfortunately, was too far along his rant to see it coming, "What, are we now not good enough because we don't agree with the all mighty Bulma Briefs?"

Bulma stood motionless near the railing, flexing her jaw in an irate frenzy. Leisurely, she sauntered to the sitting man, hell fire burning brightly in her blue eyes, "At least I have enough brains to conduct a thorough examination rather than reacting to snap impulse, like this."

Before Yamcha could react, the woman wedged a high heel between his thighs into the chair. A yowl escaped, sending her friends and half of the other customers to a standing position. Bulma straightened her skirt before snubbing her nose in the opposite direction, a new destination away from the crowd. "Good-bye."

Tien scowled, slapping a napkin down on his own ruined lunch, "You are a fucking idiot, Yamcha."

She was pissed. More than pissed and spent the rest of the day holed up back in her suite pouring over design reports. She made a drastic move, but it was by no means completely irrational or irresponsible of her. If Vegeta really wanted to leave, he would have tested his luck the moment the guards removed his handcuffs. Or before. They were not that far from Kyoto then. The fucking city was viewable at the airport. He could have snapped her like a twig at any point on their drive or flight with or without the magic dart. It would not have mattered by that point anyway, because she would have been dead. However, he withheld. He played her game either because he was sufficiently convinced that she lacked the ability to help him in that way, or because he truly lacked the desire to leave for whatever reason.

He seemed tired.

Kind of like her after a long campaign.

She closed the file on her laptop and dragged out a briefcase. Inside were the various technical reports chronicling her team's effort on the mystical orbs. She quietly wished that she could send Vegeta back. To have the ability to create a functioning space craft beyond the tinker toys NASA and other private companies were trying to implement would not only be a scientific innovation, but a great business venture as well. Untapped resources within the solar system could be utilized. Expansion of the human civilization could finally be achieved without political corruption bogging down the results. Both the orbs and the larger damaged ship far outclassed any punctuated baby steps reflecting history's past endeavors. This sort of technology was necessary if the world were to be truly ready for intergalactic travel.

But were her intentions really well thought through? Some of her fondest memories were in Central China, the same place where she seemingly dumped the high-flight risk killer. And with blind trust. The same blind trust she instilled in Goku the day she met him and throughout all their crazy adventures. She witnessed him doing the most amazing things no child could accomplish on their own, and yet managed to retain that idealistic innocence beyond adulthood. Goku attained eternal optimism and never let it go. _This guy couldn't be that bad … could he?_


	9. Life Beyond the City

**AN: I don't own anything. Thank you for your lovely reviews. I greatly appreciate them! The more I get, the more I will write.**

Anyway, enjoy:)

**Chapter 8: Life Beyond The City**

Vegeta threw the hammer down in frustration, muttering obscenities under his breath. These people's attempt at craftsmanship was piss poor. No wonder their buildings were falling apart. The sun broiled his back and he had to tuck his shirt through a pant loop in order to keep it dry enough for use as a sweat rag. He peered over his shoulder at other laborers assembling the recycled roof chips. Excruciating heat reverberated back off of the black rock, and by late afternoon he was surprised the humans could handle the slate without gloves.

He was starting to understand them better, at least. Bulma commenced introductions to families in the adjacent village shortly after settling him with supplies and a short ration of food to keep him tidied for several weeks. She told them he was from a place called "Old Okinawa," which received an understanding look followed by wary responses. Vegeta was curious if it caused more damage than good and since then, he was stared at no matter where he went. Mostly, he just chose to linger out of sight, except when asked, and explored his new home along the countless minor shrub trails.

The woman had also gone out of her way to create a barter system for his services. The villagers provided food and other amenities in exchange for aiding in repair of their homes and managing their farmland. Initially, they were timid, quietly tapping on the decayed door before entering as though they owned the place. Once they saw him, curt fear was replaced by rapid strings of noise he could not absorb no matter how much he tried. Japanese was so much easier to translate, he decided, because there was no parade of notes accompanying that dialog. With a persistent tug of his arm, they would drag him out of his little hut and play a series of charades with him until their goal was reached. Vegeta did his best to hold back snapping at the gaggle, especially when they grabbed him. He did not like being touched.

After the job they called him out for was completed, the few men would gather in the cool shade as a reward, offering him cigarettes and cold beer. It was the only thing they drank cold, which was all the better since the distant bitterness was less appealing if it remained at room temperature. Answering to the singsong catlike call, they would clamber around a plastic covered table further into the ramada of their living room and chat loudly over the piles of steamed rice, meats, and peppers drawn out of the kitchen. The saiyan, left in solace at the doorstep with his hot tea, would eventually give into the smell and join the group's festivity. Lunch was always festive. Dinner more so.

The women were much quieter than the men and often avoided him along the roadside, casually staring when he was not looking. The only one that talked to him regularly, whether she knew he could understand or not, was the restaurant owner's wife who fed the group during the week. On days he was not called out into the open as a spectator sport, Vegeta would be roused by a soft rap at the door. No one was there when he answered; rather a basket of food lay sprawled on his make-shift doormat. As time passed, the entrées became personalized with dishes he eagerly expressed fondness for, and he knew it was his little cook providing for him without demand. Without a word though, he would empty the contents and replace the used basket back on the entrance only to find it gone the next time he looked.

He had to admit, they seemed to live a content life despite the lack of any conveniences short of electricity and perhaps piped-in water. Vegeta had neither and retrieved all lost survival techniques in his memory banks in order to better accommodate his novel, unfamiliar lifestyle. He had plenty of burning fuel and a well nearby, and Bulma was competent enough to make sure he knew how to use the common tools left for him. All of it was basic, even for her standards. Nevertheless, she walked him through it with all his objections intact, stopping only when her guest surpassed his bounds with a threat to end the tour as though she were a mother scolding her child. He was temperamental, but so was she. Neither took lecturing of the other well and terminal frustration left both wondering if this was the right decision. When she finally left him alone as she promised, dust blazing along the path of her vehicle, he breathed a sigh of relief and welcomed the renewed, preferred silence.

The nights were dead calm. Insects chirped outside his window and there was a clear view of the stars to unfocus his mind. The box did not look so bad after he replaced the roof and cleaned the inside, discovering now that he was more neurotic with respect to sanitation than he ever knew. On the bases and risas, military quarters were always tip-top no matter where he was. Efficiency was a blanket requirement. Water was even recycled. It was bizarre to bathe in running water again, the tingling feeling of the fluid moving over his skin erratically without beading like he expected in a vacuum. His hair stayed wet far too long for his liking, although no matter how much he dried it with the scant towel Bulma provided, the humidity would again restore the sheen to a damp residue.

Still, it was nice to have nothing weigh down on the conscious and enough work to force him asleep when it refused to shut up. With this in mind, Vegeta gradually entertained the possibility that he could get used to human isolation. Assuming that the Planet Trade did not find him first, of course. It was only a matter of time, and the tsiru never lost a target without sending hell after it. For so long it had been he who posed as the devil's angel, successfully tracking down each intended objective and neutralizing it. The dirt behind the shiny alter of a massive enterprise, they put Raylin's superior training to excellent use. At the expense of his own species no less, now that he had the chance to rehash on that old wound. No wonder she left. How good it must have felt to cross them the way she did, and if he could turn back time knowing now what he should have known then, he would gladly have jumped ship.

The only other individuals better at their job were the cyborgs. He bit by bit figured they were the appropriate general replacement since they were more equipped to handle both full on extermination as well as tedious assassinations without that pesky moral dilemma recent razukins and saiyans alike faced. They were the ultimate negotiators, and Vegeta was such the valuable puppet that it would afford them well to make sure he did not simply walk away from this scandal. Rampant paranoia was yet upon the man with the notion that he would one day awake before his foe unprepared and with nowhere to run. And for that, he slept little for the first few weeks of his stay.

Clinking could be heard off in the distance. The area they were blasting supplied building material for the area, and Vegeta was going back and forth between helping replace damaged structures and cleaving pieces of slate from the mining rubble. He almost always gained attention at the swiftness and grace he displayed when hitting the well-placed rock with a sledgehammer. Carefully picking out a large chunk, he separated the splits into four regularly sized plates before tossing it aside for the next one. If they were all the same dimensions, then there would be no leaks in the rooftop to contend with.

Although the villages were spread out, condensing into the gorge below them, community was strong and lively. Sporadically, he was able to pick up certain sentences spouted out by the men during their daily prattle about events or family members living along the river. At times, they would have visitors on motorbikes come up to deliver packages or messages and inevitably stay for lunch. They were all shocked to see the unfamiliar face, but quickly forgot, or ignored, him to repeat the cycle of normalcy they were satisfied with.

"Yi! Er! San! HI!" The chorus of passing children drew his attention away from the gable, as they cheerfully giggled in awe at the stranger. This was not the first time they shook his contemplation and often enjoyed watching him from a distance. Several of the more daring ones managed to sneak up to his home one evening while he was resting after a particularly brutal day. Somehow, be it from the heat exhaustion or general weariness, he failed to sense them approach, only to find three pairs of beady eyes staring at him from the lower corner of his window. Startled and somewhat disturbed by the personal invasion, he thundered out the door yelling foreign words to the young girls as they fled.

But these particular imps were stuck on him and came back for more. He later determined that they were sisters from one of the farms on the other side of the hill. They passed his shack on the way home from school, nonchalantly entering his property like the rest of the residents; the difference being more out of curiosity to see if the mystery man was present. They followed him up the trails, keen to stay far enough away from Vegeta as to not entirely cause panic. Occasionally, he spotted the youngest wandering by the restaurant during lunch to pester the cats. The cook would chatter at her while she shyly hung around the kitchen, no doubt peeking over to the group of older men from time to time.

Although innately annoying, deep down he thought it was cute. The middle one would appear on his doorstep and just openly gawk. It was like they knew he was an alien, completely immersed and silently amused by everything he did. He was their television. One day she idly sat observing Vegeta wash some of his clothing far beyond what he deemed dirty. Suddenly, she pointed to the wet shirt in his hand as he wrung it out and quietly said, "yifu." By this point he knew what she meant, but ceased his activity to study her. She pursed a smile from his response and pointed to another object, this time the door, "kou."

For the first time since he was dropped on the mud ball, the outsider could not help but smile with sincerity, closing his eyes and promptly ignoring what his spectator was trying to teach him. He may have never said a word, but that did not mean he was slow. After that, they never left him alone, and for sure there was always a small spy lurking about somewhere during the day.

* * *

"Ms. Kobeyashi, a Mister Lauchheimer called to confirm his appointment for tomorrow at the," the receptionist stopped to read the handwriting more carefully, "A- Ax Lioness?"

"Aux Lyonnais," Bulma corrected, taking the note from her hand and stalking into her office. Marie, or 'kitten' as the heiress privately mused, was a new assistant pushed by her father, who in turn was prodded by her stepmother as a favor for her friend. It was to get out of the house. She was a small brunette with perfect nails, a cache of beauty products in her chique purse, and style far too pretentious for any normal associate at Capsule Corp. It was sad that her brain contrasted so sharply with the size of her husband's bank account, which made the hire all the more frivolous. She may have known what the restaurant was. More than likely, she had dinner there on several occasions. However, Bulma candidly bet money that Kitten would be lost to describe it based solely on the butchered name.

Lauchheimer. A household name in Europe for appliances, wood furnishings, and paint. They had received some attention in the United States as well as Australia for several years and were openly campaigning to push supplies abroad. To Bulma, the business sounded like a name for a fancy Rolex and wondered why they had little foresight to make use of the potential advertising. It made the lower class homes seem more … extravagant. That must be it.

Her meeting was not to purchase furniture, though. The corporations were partners in the business game, where Capsule Corp. designed the appliances and Lauchheimer, Inc. promoted them. It was a fair arrangement and although her collaborators made a mint on selling the equipment, Bulma ultimately had exclusive rights to the patents, giving her the power to elicit any manufacturer for any price at any time. Now that she had a foot into the world market, she would inform Lauchheimer of her intentions to sell out to other companies. The United States could assemble the appliances cheaper and without transport penalties, as an added benefit. Plus, a competitive market to gear prices in both countries. It was a win-win situation in her eyes.

She sat down at the large cherry desk and thumbed through her recent meeting summaries. The room was somewhat old fashioned for her taste. It sort of recalled a sense of "old cigar man" in her mind. Half the time, she expected an imaginary version of her father to stride away from the bookcase with a strong pipe in his hand, reflecting on some book he read.

_A classic novel_. A deep, snobbish cackle lurched from her throat. _God, the New York office is so much better._

Two more weeks and the grand quarterly tour would be complete. So far in her rounds of the Empire, she visited the Tokyo, Phoenix, Chicago, New York, and London branches, and was only now comfortably in the confines of an overly plush leather chair in Paris. Next on her list was Riyadh and finally Sydney. For the most part, these visits were to manage personal business relationships with their clients and usually were taken up by her father. However, hubbub over the "capsule patents," as it became known within the science division of the company, was requiring many more resources than initial budgeted, leaving Bulma to pick up his left over duties as CEO. To exacerbate matters, she was apparently very good at playing hostess and many of their partners confided their desire to continue relations specifically with her. She guessed this was to be expected, as she would eventually inherit the company when the Great Kobeyashi retired.

Abruptly, the phone chimed by her side and she closed the report, "Bonjour, Bulma parlant."

"Bulma dear, how are you doing?" The gruff voice happily returned.

Immediately, her disposition changed and a girlish grin engulfed her oval cheeks, "Daddy, I wasn't expecting your call."

"Must I send a memo to talk to my little girl?"

"No, no. Of course not," she closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. He should have sent the memo. "I'm doing fine. How are you, Daddy?"

"Oh," he sighed, "I am doing alright. I wanted to ask you something."

Her gut tightened for a second at the prospect of a spontaneous inquiry from anyone, especially when it came to her most recent deals, "Yes?"

"I need you to come back to the main branch and sort a problem out for me."

She swallowed and leaned back in the chair, "What sort of problem?"

"We are having irrevocable issues with the capsule patents, and I need your expertise to find a solution," he purposely added zing to the latter half of the remark.

"What's wrong?"

"Oh, I don't want to go into details about it here. However, our deadline is approaching quickly and I need all the hands I can get. You have pulled me out of pickles before."

"Gee, pickles, eh?" she retorted. She was not sure if she wanted to go back to Tokyo so soon. The capsules were a pain in the ass with no doubt that the final product was behind schedule.

"Come on, sweetheart. I have already cancelled your meetings in Riyadh and I am currently on my way to Sidney to conclude the quarterly tour personally."

"You what?"

"I will send a jet to pick you up."

"Wait a minute," she jerked in, "Daddy, let me handle my own schedule. The deadline is not until November. Are you sure this cannot wait?"

The receiver was quiet before his brittle chuckle picked up on her end, "Bulma. This project should have been yours since the concept was finalized last year. I made a mistake by turning it over to the Fidel Group, I admit, and since have had issue after issue in blueprinting and prototyping the product. But I need you now to fix it like you have always managed to do in the past. You are my little genius. You uphold the Kobeyashi good name and I expect nothing less."

Bulma raised an eyebrow at the last statement. Of course he would expect nothing less than perfection in this family. This invention would change the world and that was his goal, "I will be there tomorrow evening."

She could almost hear the smile erect itself, "You are such a precious gem."

"I know," she replied and hung up. The heiress sat silent in her luxurious cage, peering at the miscellaneous pictures and expensive French trinkets lining the equally delicate cherry bookcases. She needed a vacation. Pushing the red button with bottled control, Bulma contacted her kitten languidly checking email in the next room, "Marie, please cancel my appointment with Mr. Lauchheimer. I will be leaving the office today."

* * *

"Xiansheng?" One of the farmers thumped the door before entering. Vegeta rose to his feet and looked to the intruder. Silently brushing by the shorter man, he began down the road toward his scheduled destination. The other followed close behind, still hesitant to speak as this was first time he did not need to coerce the occupant out of hiding.

It had been raining for one solid week, which was actually received well by the saiyan for it kept the sun buried behind clouds and allowed his skin to stay hydrated. The climate tended to build into endless precipitation, in turn mirroring the unyielding temperatures that preceded and followed each monsoon. Two days ago, Vegeta overheard one of the old men retelling something about how the river overflowed, damaging homes and crops. Many people died, from the sound of it, and they were all going to walk into the gorge at some point after the water receded to see if they could assist in repair. This meant that he would likely be away for a couple of days along the tributary itself, and he saw this as the perfect opportunity to check out any true means of leaving.

As nice as this retreat was for his berated psyche, he needed to get off the planet. Even if that meant scrapping a ship together on his own. Bulma said that she would be back within a couple of weeks. However, ninety-three solar days had passed since her departure, and Vegeta half wondered if she abandoned him. Fear of impending doom was further distracting, and an obsessive compulsion to run fiercely started gaining hold as time wore on.

Worse yet, he was beginning not to feel right again as an unidentifiable dull ache slowly took over his body. He initially thought it was a warning signal alerting him to the enemy's presence, but coupled exhaustion and frequent headaches eventually forced him to rebut this as the most plausible explanation. Fright or flight delusions did not manifest in the form of a common illness.

Still, Vegeta did not enjoy the idea of getting sick, with a foreign disease no less. Any longer in the bleak, polluted place and he was unsure of what kind of ailment he would conjure given any differences in his physiology when compared to his fellow comrades. Desperate measures would have to be sought after if the warden could not be bothered to return for him.

He met the other volunteers with a fleeting nod at their lunch stop before departing down the dirt path. His cook brought out plastic bags with food for all of them and handed something to the old man when exchanging muffled words. The walk was a long downhill gradient, winding along the same recognizable snakes Vegeta arrived on. In the distance, their destination would occasionally present itself as a mass of brown wedged into what once was a sea of white brick buildings. The villages all seemingly fused at the center of the valley, extending beyond into the flanks of the massive river. A rubble wall farther in their horizon partially confined the channel upstream, and a waterfall rushed out of the narrow gorge behind it with a steady resonating thunder.

"What is that?" Vegeta nudged the older farmer and motioned to the remote basin.

The elder squinted an aged eye and sniffed, "Long ago, it was a dam."

Vegeta processed the word, but found no decipherable meaning, "I do not understand."

"Barrier. It held water," He turned back to him, rephrasing with his hands.

Recognition lit in his eyes and the alien continued to gaze as water easily bypassed the debris, "It broke."

The four other men with them dissolved in laughter, muttering between each another. The leader cracked a toothy grin and patted Vegeta firmly on the shoulder, "Long ago."

For a second, he wanted to persist as to why the dam was in ruin in the first place and how it was these people did not either repair or tear it away. Somehow though, Vegeta got the impression that they were more content to let their surroundings fade out of sight rather than keep up the façade of precision he was so accustomed to. If it was in at least partially usable condition, then there was no need to discard or fix it. After all, a small leak provided fresh, clean water relative to tainted streams when available.

They stayed overnight in an open room along the road. The resident family offered rice and peppers for dinner, chit chatting with the senior while the younger teens tried their best to act adult around the newcomers. Vegeta hid in the shadows, hoping that if he ignored them, they would harass the others instead. However, no matter how much he pretended to not comprehend, one of the other men would give him away and a tag game ensued. Finally, in effort to escape the onslaught of curious children, Vegeta got up and left for seclusion outside. He could care less if he was reacting rudely to their hospitality. He just wanted to purge his headache.

By the next morning, the throbbing was still there and humidity returned with a shrill cry overhead. They continued by foot, accruing an additional companion in the oldest child during the pit stop. The sight of people was more common the farther they pressed, eventually encountering a fork in their path. The elder already knew which to take and like ants, they all followed, meandering slowly toward the flat expanse before them.

"Ni hao!" A tall fellow exclaimed, leaning his hat a bit toward the allies with a warm greeting. The elder responded with equal friendliness, nodding and placing a wrinkled hand on his shoulder. The younger immediately removed his tiny piece of shade and gave it to the senior with insistence. There was always some sort of exchange between parent and child. They stood talking for some minutes, introducing neighbors and finally pointing back to Vegeta left hidden in the crowd. The old man grinned happily, referring to him as their "strong tiger."

Appraising the damage was an effort, for the flood burdened homes with mud as it withdrew. Miscellaneous boulders and trash lay half hazardly in the streets; the remainder of their old levee. Yet, the residents already began the repair as though it was an old routine. A wall of packed sand was shoved onto the bank, securing a renewed barrier and rerouting the river. Luckily, only a portion of the city was located along the flank before climbing into surrounding mountains and managed to avoid the brunt of the weather. Instead, most of the damage played out on the adjoining roads and docks hugging the wide, turbulent waterway and cliffs.

Vegeta surveyed his options while trailing behind. Certainly, his airport must be gone. There were no vehicles like the one Bulma was outfitted with and the motorcyclists stayed clear of the watermark by heading back upslope. Large boats drifted passed, careful to steer its wake far enough away so that only ripples lapped against the bank.

"Xiansheng," one of the laborers motioned him back to their objective. The levee was only partially complete, knee-high water still trickling through the woven plastic and burlap overstuffed with the tributary's interior. Lining the bags into a thick triangular divide from one end, they sealed the holes with a silt mortar on the other. The final image of a dark tan line ran lengthwise several feet above the previous disaster. It was not that difficult of a task. However, with each successive sack Vegeta hauled, he felt himself tow faintly slower. He refused the idea of a break, only stopping to horde his tea. Perhaps by nightfall he could risk finding another avenue alone.

The placid morning transitioned into a scorching afternoon; heat advising rest for most of the workers. Lunch was followed by a ritualistic nap to ward off any ill effects of labor on full stomachs. Vegeta shrugged it off as an excuse to lounge around, but with the ever growing fatigue, took it without complaint. Messaging his scalp tenderly, he could swear a minute hum phased in and out, affecting his sight as it did so. Dizziness crept forward and he tilted back flat against the ground with a maddened huff. In an odd way, the ground felt cooler than the air, humming its own tune separate from the cicada choir. Gradually, a faint vibration joined the sound and Vegeta recognized it as a far-off engine coursing along the road toward their current site. His expression lightened at the single mirage of hope, and he almost too quickly sat back up.

A truck and wide trailer pulled up near the congregation, as they roused themselves out of their siesta, carrying an assortment of burlap and mounds of sand. Everyone crowded against the vehicles, unloading the cargo before sending it on its way. Vegeta peered pensively, weighing the likelihood of this being his only chance of escape. In a final snap decision, he reached out for the backside of large truck, determined to jump in as it departed. The elder tugged his arm back with swift ease though, and Vegeta was struck by his lack of resistance in the moment. The other looked concerned, shaking his head, "We do not go that way."

"Let go of me," the saiyan demanded, flinching the forearm back into his possession. He could still easily catch it. With dim recognition, he felt a wrench in his spine, needle piercing pain reaching his eyelids. He instantly forgot about the vehicle and the deluge, instead kneeling into the mud with a wrist covering his forehead in angst.

Suddenly, all of the men overwhelmed him, concerned that their invincible helper was now incapacitated. A cold sweat engulfed his already dehydrated form and Vegeta steadied his breathing in order to assess the situation. This was something he never felt before. They retrieved him and ushered some tea while placing the small foreigner against the completed end of the berm.

The elder returned after a moment with fluid in a clear cup and tilted down to look into his eyes. Studying them for a moment, "You look fine."

Vegeta glared back still trying to focus his brain enough to determine the location of the malfunctioning nerve. Although the migraine since recoiled into the background pulse he had become used to over the past days, it had moved from his temple to the base of his neck. Worry flickered briefly at the thought that there was no one around who knew of his augmentations, nor had any way to treat problems should they arise. Buzzing passed his ear drum. He jerked his head to the side, readjusting to the loud vibrant hum. It must be the implant reacting.

_This is not good_.

Then, all went black.


	10. Naked

**Author's Note: I don't own anything!**

Thank you for all of your lovely reviews. **Please keep them coming!** Your comments matter:)

**Chapter 9: Naked**

Carol fell back into the chair, relaxing her arms in a deflated manner. Shutting her eyes, she allowed herself a moment to make sure the diagnosis was correct before turning to her concerned friend patiently awaiting a response, "This man should be taken to a clinic."

"What's wrong with him?" Bulma leaned forward, panic reflecting in her pale features.

"I think it might be meningitis," she sighed, "It took me a while, but he seems to be displaying many of the symptoms, albeit in a bizarre way."

Her friend cocked her chin with a confused gesture. The disease rang with a familiar serious tone, "Isn't that a rare illness?"

"It is rare, but not entirely unheard of. It can manifest as a simple bug, and normally healthy people can even be infected without ever getting sick. Which implies that he is either not healthy or he has sensitivity to the disease. It's hard to tell. Although, in all of my years here, I have never personally seen an adult case like this, so it's feasible that I am wrong." She knit her brows in concentration, still earnest to doubt the conclusion as true, "How long did you say he had this fever?"

Honestly, she had no clue how long he was sick. She landed in her private airport, half swamped with residue from the past monsoon, guilty and extremely tardy from when she informed Vegeta of her return. Two, perhaps three, weeks was far different than nearly four months. No media had caught attention of his presence though, and she permitted the belief that mass murder had not yet occurred during her absence. It was not until she reached her little village that she sensed a problem. The restaurant owner and his wife waved frantically as her jeep passed, running up to recap the past weeks' events and how suddenly her unusual friend collapsed along the river. The men quickly summoned the unloaded truck back to them and managed to convince the driver to return Vegeta upslope. Since then, the cook and her family checked on him as often as they could and attempted to cool the intensifying delirium with the old ways in which they knew how. Too little effect.

"At least a week from what Lao Zhu told me."

Carol's face sullied, "You mean others have been near him?"

"I can't always be here, Carol. He collapsed in Maoping while helping Lao Zhu and the others rebuild the berm. Since then, his daughter has been caring for him until I returned."

She inhaled sharply, "We need to quarantine this place. Bulma, this could be the beginning of an outbreak."

"Wait," Bulma pulled a hand up, aware of what the doctor was going to suggest, "Let's not rush this. First, how do we treat him?"

"Uh, I think it is obvious. We need to get him to an infirmary and have spinal tap done to test which kind viral or bacterial infection is causing his condition," Carol ground out while pulling at her notebook. Bulma had known her since their college days. She was earnestly trying to avoid a destined engineering degree while the other woman vied for the opportunity to get into medical school and help the less fortunate. Bulma figured her as a bleeding heart, but ostensibly came in handy when her friends got themselves in tough situations. Never once questioning in her gullibility except when it was possible that whatever ailment she discovered might afflict others. That was how it had been with Goku.

"I can't do that," Bulma noted quietly.

Carol snapped back up to her, "Bulma, he could die. I'm surprised he's lasted this long with the fever." When she arrived, rushing through the door of Bulma's home, the scientist had already placed the man in an ice bath to reduce the burning sensation emanating from his body. Injections filled with anti-inflammatory agents were immediately given.

105.7 Fahrenheit.

"It's going down, isn't it?"

"That's not the point. It could easily go back up. Worse, he could have irreversible brain damage from prolonged exposure like that."

She stubbornly pushed on, "Can you conduct the spinal tap here?"

Her friend dropped her jaw and shook her head rapidly in frustration, "No! He has to be immobilized." The stern visage continued causing the doctor thoughtfully closed her book, "Who is this chap?"

"That's not important."

"'The hell it's not."

"Look, will you just help him?" The woman implored anxiously, halting the questions then and there, "You are the only person within a thousand kilometers that can conduct any sophisticated tests, and we don't have time to dick around if it's _this_ urgent."

Carol was quieted momentarily by the outburst, alternative solutions blazing through her head, "All that I have on me is penicillin at the moment. He needs a more aggressive antibiotic, probably several since we can't identify the suspect microbe."

"Fine. Give me whatever I need and I'll take care of him."

Her friend chewed on her cheek, concerned about Bulma's hasty endangerment of her patient before sighing into the demand. No amount of fighting would solve the current dilemma. Slowly, she reached into her bag and retrieved a metal box to her lap. Within it were several vials and sets of syringes, each with a disinfectant cap, "Let me take a blood test. I'll run it to make sure he doesn't have anything else and get back to you tomorrow or the next with the rest of the medication." She pulled out a small brown bottle labeled with a lengthy chemical term Bulma scarcely could pronounce, "I'll leave a vial of penicillin and some naproxen to alleviate as much of the fever as possible. Bulma, it's important that we reduce his fever."

"I know," she gently held the bottles and needle.

"If he has a convulsion or his pulse drops or anything, call me immediately."

"I know."

"Bulma."

She looked up at Carol, who already began her decent back to the guest room. The short, sandy hair was disheveled and she appeared so tired with a saddened expression drawing subtle lines in her forehead. It hit the doctor then that her friend's apparent recklessness was really overshadowed by a stronger sense of remorse. Suddenly, there was nothing Carol could say beyond a pitied expression as she continued down the hall.

She quietly opened the door into the small room. The cream drapes lessened the starkness of the light coming in through a large bay window to one side and soft morning rays fluttered the walls. Her patient appeared so out of place when she focused on him lying immobile in the bed. He certainly did not look Asian. In fact, she had a difficult time placing his features in general, and was even more befuddled with Bulma's refusal to enlighten her.

He was in a similar state of unconsciousness from when she arrived, which frustrated Carol because it meant that she would not be able to get a description of his complaints directly. So many diseases exhibit analogous enough signs that the deadliest of them could come off as a basic cold. She checked his breathing and reflexes. He was certainly dehydrated and the initial diagnosis was heat exhaustion. However, as she emplaced the intravenous catheter into his hand, she noticed minor bruising around the base of his neck, likely resultant from cranial swelling. In conjunction with the testimonial fever, her hours of deliberation were reduced to only several frank choices.

Cautiously, she sat on the edge of the mattress, and pulled up her syringe and vial to draw blood. The I.V. was taped in place, providing convenient access for any injections necessary. Still, she could not help her fascination and paused to watch his chest slowly puff and flatten. She dared to reach and trace his defined hairline as though she were following the edge of a painting. His sharp features left a familiar European tone; his skin shade slightly darker than her own. Romanian. Greek perhaps, had those countries still existed.

It was not the first time Bulma let someone stay in her home, as the doctor had been called there previously to aide with other ailments or accidents among people as distinctly strange. The young wealthy scientist also took keen interest in protecting and caring for the villagers surrounding the property, and Carol was funded the moment she graduated medical school to start a practice east of Yichang. There was always work for her here. Always people who needed her.

It was not her place to inquire who these people were. However, Bulma's own enigmatic life lead to wariness after a while. As long as she had known the woman, they never shared family holidays, nor did they ever delve too deeply in the other's personal endeavors. It was as though Bulma was never really interested and was either too busy or too consumed by her own issues to connect with the world around her. In the end, she still gave credence to the abilities of others in remembering Carol's desire to do good, and brought her to the forgotten country so that she could better the residents with her breadth of medicinal knowledge. With that, she was appreciative.

Shaking herself from the contemplation, she quickly set back to attaining answers. Blood was better than nothing.

She felt the calculating stare before she saw it.

"Who are you?"

He spoke with a lilt of a local native. The doctor, slightly caught off guard by this, held herself still while studying the more lively expression and comparing it to the one she so closely regarded moments before. His eyes carved more life than his body was willing to exude.

"I am a friend," Carol responded in the same language while extracting the needle. Vegeta recalled hearing that phrase somewhere before, but was unable to place it. Another loud noise skittered past his eardrum, pain shooting up the side of his temple, causing him to wince and shorten his breath. The doctor's smile was replaced with worry as she knelt up to gently touch the base of his neck, "Does this hurt here?"

The tenderness in his scalp was almost too much take and he jerked away. Carol pulled a small tube from her belt and turned his face toward her. The physical contact sent nerve endings firing in his cheek, akin to a numbing sensation. Vegeta vainly fought her off, but even the tiny British woman's strength was greater and she pulled him back toward her again with ease.

"Can you see me?"

He nodded shyly. Her voice was calming.

"I'm going to point a light in your eyes, so don't be shocked." As quickly as she spoke, she pulled the tube upright into his left eye first. Then right. He squinted, followed by quick readjustment to the bright spot hovering over his vision.

"Can you tell me what happened?"

Vegeta shook his head, licking chapped lips. The doctor searched close to the bedside for the cup of water she left herself hours prior, leaning back in moments later with clement grace. He had no energy left to fight as every fiber in his body screamed from her touch. Senses were heightened and dulled in unity with the ebb and flow of electrical defaults slipping inside his skull. The sounds were almost as unbearable as the prickling sensation of the water sliding down his throat.

"I think you have an infection that is affecting your brain," Carol's soothing tenor brought him somewhere near reality again. He could only make out hazy notions of long brown hair curling over her slight shoulder beyond the still glaring bright dots detracting his vision. Vegeta clenched his eyes shut to alleviate the oppressive stress.

Carol continued to stare, slowly considering her prying. She hated doing this Bulma, but her conscience could not handle the alternative, "Can you tell me your name? Where you're from?"

"I have to leave," he croaked, again nudging away from her to push up from the mattress. The doctor insistently countered his movements, to her success and his astonishment, as she lightly tucked the comforter around his arms and torso.

"No," she shook her head and knelt down to him, "You need to rest."

"But-"

"Rest."

She shushed him with fingers to his lips and smiled again, now regretting her own curiosity. Vegeta obeyed only because he had no other ability to move, rapidly losing consciousness with each successive mouthful of air. She held the syringe up to reinsert the cap, followed by a tap of the serum baggie. She would need to leave several more of those as well when she returned.

"I will need to get similar samples from the residents that have been near him. More than likely, they will also need to a series of antibiotics," Carol returned to the front room with her cargo. Bulma still sat on the edge of sun panel facing out the window. The vials were clutched desperately in her petite hands. "I'll try my best to process this and get back with more medication by tomorrow. Will you be alright?"

Bulma turned and swallowed down tears, nodding mutely.

The pained expression resurfaced along with a more intense grimace as Carol sincerely wondered the affinity of her friend, "Bulma, I hate to ask this of you, but I have to know. For my own conscience."

"What?"

She pursed her lips together, rethinking the question. Normally she did not pride herself in digging into her friend's business, "Is this man a terrorist?"

Bulma nearly balked. The query was not that unreasonable, however, considering he was an obvious foreigner with unknown origins, of which she was seemingly overprotective of. Since the fallout, agencies responsible for the most heinous of the biological and tactical warfare fled and hid in remote countries ironically most devastated by the War itself. Limited technology, even once repaired and upgraded, was unable to track many of the groups and over decades, their existence faded into text books recapping the most recent events in human nature. Yet, their presence lingered. Recent demonstrations in Asia and the Middle East were perking up again. Peace never lasted forever, and eventually they all came out of woodwork, something of which Bulma personally understood.

After a moment of reflection, Carol pressed again, "When I was in there, he awoke. He kept saying something about needing to leave, but that was rejected easily enough."

Her friend looked back through the paned glass and readied herself to lie. Even though Vegeta did not seem like a recognizable threat, that did not mean he lacked terrorist-like intentions, "No. He is not," she returned to Carol, "I'm sorry to get you so involved in this and not inform you. This is not your responsibility."

"Ah, this is what I do and I'm glad that you called," she laughed with fake comfort. The answer was inadequate, but she was not willing to press it further.

Finally retrieving herself, Bulma walk her guest to the door. Brief cordial goodbyes were exchanged, and finally she was alone.

This was too reminiscent of Goku. Bulma cringed. All she wanted to do was keep Vegeta here until she was assured that he would remain civil. Until she was able to get to know him better. In due course, let her friend find the answers he needed as well. Then she could take him back and discuss the technology. If he wished to leave after that point, there was no way she could stop him. However, this was not at all what she had in mind and pressing concern obsessed that she might never be able to get the information so vital from him. Even if he survived, she feared that he very well may no longer wish to cooperate after such disregard for his livelihood. She felt personally responsible for him, for it was her land, her charity, and her oversights that could make it more difficult for both of them in the long run.

Creeping back to his room, she followed the instructions laid out for her to the tee. A series of injections had already been administered to reduce the fever, and the last attempt proved to have brought it down somewhere near 102°F. She hoped that this additional medication would continue the process in a more speedy fashion. Slowly settling her own nerves to a rational level, she assessed the situation more logically. It made sense that a viral or bacterial attack would head straight for his brain, especially considering the spinal augmentation she was so intimately aware of. Bulma thought back to her biology days, the same courses in which she met Carol and a handful of other researchers she kept in touch with over the years, semi-diligently taking notes as the professor yammered on about migration of diseases and new species. Immigration of certain mammals during the last ice age assured the mass extinction of many groups in North America. Really, this was not all that different, and she humored herself at the thought that the illness Vegeta suffered from was probably none other than a flu strain.

Several days passed without much change. Carol returned even more concerned having deciphered the patient's unusual blood type. She had encountered this before with one of Bulma's acquaintances and a motion was made then to move him quickly enough to a hospital for treatment. Much to her surprise though, Bulma did not seem all that distraught with the news, nor did she make any further effort to relocate Vegeta. The antibiotics were seemingly affective, and although he had not regained consciousness since Carol's first visit, the fever was reduced to a manageable temperature and all else appeared normal. That was fine in her eyes.

The heiress, in the midst of all this, had to force herself to work on the patents again. She returned to the main branch in Tokyo and collected the files as requested just prior to retreating to her summer vista. Her father was right – the deadline was fast approaching with the entire project a mess. Although hypothetically sound, all of the practical applications failed, destroying the product once it was used. The Fidel Group, much to her dismay, had also changed parts of the blueprint in effort to solve the mounting problems without consulting the corporation and neglected to document all their procedures.

Sighs and grumbles spewed randomly with every page read and re-read for clarity. He should have called her in earlier.

The diverse field of quantum physics brought about many new truths in the beginning of the twenty-first century. Just before the War, the newest models predicted innumerable co-existing planes, each reacting to its own set of physics and mathematics, yet interacting to define one single existence in which every being in the universe shared. The complexities on an individual level suggested that each life form contained their own paradigm based on perception of this illusion and that the mere interface between individual realities solidified what humans considered real.

This was the theoretical background on which the 'capsule patents,' among many other recent inventions emerging from Capsule Corp., were based on. The simple acceptance that an electron could appear in two separate places during a single instance in time was enough to attempt an expansion on the theory to involve entire atoms and even complex crystalline structures. Polymorphic objects. The question came about as to whether complete alternate realities existed at all and if it were possible to seek those planes out.

In practicality, the corporation was not so interested in this, although the scientific revelations were no doubt mind blowing. It was like looking at Buddha or God in order to understand that consciousness itself was no different. The true scientific explanation on which all religion was vying after. Instead, Capsule Corp. desired to apply the principles on a more fundamental level. Alter or control reality such that the environment could be manipulated. The capsule patents were designed to do just that by allowing the user to capsulate an object of nearly any size into a compartment the volume of a horse pill. Likewise, this user could take the object with them and make it reappear whenever desired.

It was like having a dimensional portal in the palm of one's hand.

The bubbling irony that humans could potentially control reality but still could not travel faster or become mightier than the confines of the universal laws governing their illusion was lost on Bulma. Her brain always hurt if she thought about it for too long.

These capsules were simply to displace reality or confine it so that it was more portable. Since Bulma was a child, this research was the center top secret project where the company was diverting most of its assets. Secretly, she knew this venture was why the founders chose such a unique name for their global identity. Big business never gave away their trade secret. Metaphors were enough.

Now finally, after so many decades of research and wealth expended on it, the invention would make a very real appearance during the next fiscal year. Its disrobing would change the world forever. Nobel Prize hung in the air and she could smell it.

But first, all of the bugs had to be identified and worked out with an added pressure of a cut-off date looming. Then again, the difficult path always worked well for Kobayashi's one and only child. Yet another defining trait in a series of geniuses, each accepting their fate openhandedly.

Thus far, there were two major issues that the young scientist could identify. The first was the production of the capsule itself. Although the object was successfully displaced, the matter in this plane did not entirely disappear. Instead, residual gravity remained, resulting in a capsule that was proportionately heavier relative to the dimensions and specific gravity of the object displaced. This meant that a small cm-size cube of steel would be indistinguishably heavier when capsulated. However, encapsulation of larger meter-size items would double or triple the original mass. Industrial companies could still use the invention for storage, but everyday consumers would not see the benefit in a three hundred kilogram capsule just to transfer a single table.

The second problem laid in the decapsulation process. The displacement and sudden expansion of space around the object resulted in a lot of excess energy, and several near fatal explosions occurred during the first three trial runs. The Fidel Group considered that certain objects just could not be capsulated, especially volatiles. This limited the use of the capsules to items that did not contain flammable substances, which was just about everything short of raw metals. Plastics, electronics, processed chemicals, waste products, and organic material burned up upon reentry, defeating the purpose of the invention if it was to be applicable for general use.

Bulma sat back with a threatening yawn, her stomach reminding her that it was late afternoon. The advantage of her private home was that it remained quiet, a solace away from the busy city and distractions that inevitably awaited every time she ventured out of the bedroom or personal lab.

Quickly finishing her own rice and stir fry, she made way to check on her guest. Vegeta was progressively getting better, although remained comatose. Three times a day, she would check on him, going down a check list of techniques mastered under Carol's tutelage. Pulse, blood pressure, temperature, I.V. and baggie, antibiotic. Occasionally, she would sit in the adjoining chair afterward and casually watch him. In some ways, it was a welcome defocusing tool when she lost a battle with her current foe in the form of a thick binder poised and open on her desk. He was not all that bad to look at, even if he was as foreign as they come. He certainly seemed less menacing asleep. An infrequent mutter or shift in his position was the sole sign alerting her that he might be actively dreaming beyond the motionless state she had become used to by this point. She claimed the nightstand and set up the familiar doses. Leaning down nonchalantly, Bulma clasped his hand in place and prepared to insert the needle.

Her vision failed her and the next thing she knew, her face was thrust down into the mattress. The body moved beneath her, as the same hand jerked away, grabbing the back of her neck. She tried to struggle against the sudden force, but screamed out instead as her arm holding the syringe was twisted harshly toward her. Cracking sounds originated from within her wrist.

The growl accompanying his voice responded in a cold sweat down her spine, "Do not touch me."

Breathing was too difficult and she bent her chin down to free her nose and mouth enough for shaggy breaths. The hold tightened, nails digging acutely into her neck. In a gurgling cry, "Stop!"

"What are you doing!" He demanded, pressing the edge of needle dangerously close to her temple. Her breath constricted further, fear flourishing a far too memorable scent for his comfort. Bending her wrist back and rapping it on bed, the narrow object was thrust from her lax grip, and Vegeta wrenched her scalp up to face him. Teeth grit. Eyes bore.

"I am tying to help you!"

"What is that!"

"It- it's a needle."

"What are you doing with it!"

Her eyes widened. The pain was so intense. He was so close that she could hardly think past the heat of every syllable passing his lips.

"Answer me!"

"You were sick! Very sick. That," she barely motioned to the edge of bed, "has medicine to help you get better."

He continued to stare incredulously, still convinced that she was lying. Memories flooded back with the mysterious image of brown locks and a soft voice reminding him to rest. Things were attached to him. A very bright light. He hesitantly looked around the room before staring back at Bulma, less anger consuming his features.

The rush of adrenaline pummeled her sense of judgment, and she spat the command at him, "Let go of me."

In a snap, he complied. Her body fell limply to the ground only to recoil into the fetal position on the far end of the room. Cradling her arm, rage clicked as she slowly stood, "What the fuck is your problem?"

The exercise in restraining her took all of his energy, and pulsing from the headache resumed its course. Every nerve tightened in his back, his only consolation was the now distanced hum in his ear. He sat back against the bedpost, taking in the surroundings with much more caution, and all but ignoring her words.

Bulma was only getting started, "You indignant, pathetic cretin! You come here with every intention of causing harm only to be given more credibility than you obviously deserve. I saved your worthless ass and this," she pointed toward her wounded hand, "_this_ is the thanks I get? They were right. I should have locked you away. Given you back to the 'authorities.' You could be their lab rat then. Trust me, it would have been a huge scrape off my nose rather than risking my ass so that you could stay alive. You made a promise to keep civility! But being alien keeps you from holding those sorts of bargains, it seems." Pacing helped reduced the onslaught of insults building in her throat consequential from the pain shooting up her side. The enduring panic pumped through her chest like a tiny, fluffy bunny. A scared bunny. Still, it was not quite enough, "I thought you were _adaptable_. How is it some more advance thing like you can get so sick anyway, huh? Fucking asshole…"

"What is wrong with me?" He quietly interjected.

She stopped the tirade and sneered at him, "Have you even heard a single word that I've said?"

He rubbed the edge of his temple, closing his eyes, "How long have I been out?"

Emotional moderation claimed her once again as she collected herself for more a amiable approach. Air forced its way out of her nostrils, a repetitive hiss coincident with her heart beat. She had to calm herself. He was very ill, after all. Irrationality came with that sort of thing, "You passed out along the Yangtze about two weeks ago. You've been in and out since."

"What is wrong with me?" He repeated.

Sitting in the arm chair for more support, she curtly replied, "Well, you probably caught a bacterial strain of some sort."

'Bacteria' had no translation. He opened an eye in her direction. The light was so bright in the room, "I do not understand."

She raised a fair eyebrow, "You have an infection. I imagine that is what is causing the headaches? Lao Zhu mentioned to me that you were suffering for a while."

The old man. The cup of tea. The reassuring expression that he would be ok, even though truth ultimately defied his words. If she was honest, then he did catch something and it was messing with the implant components. If the medicine she claimed was there to help him, then it would rationally explain why the throbbing was receding since the last time he was fully aware.

"That antibiotic is meant to kill the infection," Bulma managed to rise again after a very long pause, considering how she should handle the situation now that her 'guest' was awake. She could not in good conscious leave him unaided. It would prove her entire motive wasted, and therefore, she had to reason that pride could afford to suffer a little for the just cause. Gearing her jaw out of its death grip, she resentfully muttered the phrase, "Are you hungry?"

Vegeta did not answer, remaining still against the bed frame. A concentrated expression formed on his brow as he stared forward at an invisible dot on the other side of the room.

She would only go so far, though. There was no way she was going anywhere near him again without some kind of warning. An exasperated sigh huffed before taking a careful step toward the bed, "If I come near you, are going to pull this shit with me again? I just need to retrieve the syringe and then I will be out of your hair."

Again no reply. Bulma was beginning to see a behavioral pattern from their first set of conversations on the plane. Risking further injury, she inched to the side of the bed and snatched the object before stepping back to edge of nightstand.

"You still have to take this medicine, Vegeta." The remark resonated with striking finality, suggestive of her unwillingness to administer it herself. She did not like the idea of being attacked. That was why her personal friends were all very good at what they did, "Are you going to let me give this to you, or are you going to continue being an ungrateful ass?"

Both eyes shifted toward her with an intense glare.

Instantly, Bulma shrugged her shoulder and dropped the syringe in defiance, "Fine. You're smart, so do it yourself."

With that, she left, chiding her actions and naïvety the entire way.

_What the fuck was I thinking?_

Attention was given to her arm first. Although extremely sensitive, she could bend it with most of its full range, refuting the notion that it was broken. Wrapping the slender wrist with gauze and tape, she gathered herself enough to at least provide Vegeta with the basics and leave him alone. She lacked the patience and time for this sort of drama.

When she returned to the room, he was in the same position as when she left. The only thing that suggested he was awake at all was the slow clench of his jaw line as she entered and the fact that he was still looking intently forward. She had no desire to stick around, quietly placing the tray on the side table with a water carafe and soup before exiting in the opposite direction. Work demanded her attention, for which she dived into with great fervor if it meant ignoring the potential threat brooding next door for the evening.


	11. Sense

**Author's Note: I don't own anything! Please keep the reviews coming, they are greatly appreciated:)**

**Chapter 10: Sense**

Bulma groggily unburied herself from a stack of pillows. It was 6:43 am.

_Too.Damn.Early_.

She just managed to crawl in bed around three something, but still could not sleep. A string of differential equations kept scrolling through her head in a repetitive beat synchronized with the last song blaring past her ear buds.

_Two series were due last month and the prototypes keep failing. The structure of the skin isn't strong enough. It just burns out. Perhaps a different alloy would work._

She rolled over reluctantly.

_We don't have time to send it back to blueprinting before the meeting in London. Daddy, you pushed another promise without thinking._

Coffee. Scratch that, she would give anything for a cigarette. A recent habit, but as of late it was more affective than the other option to subdue her grumbling stomach, allowing her to focus on the task at hand. It was a wonder why her entire family didn't die of emphysema or caffeine overdoses.

_And those ships. Those damn ships just won't open, no matter what I do short of taking a fucking crowbar to it._

She pulled on a pair of pajama pants and slicked back her hair before leaving privacy behind for the rest of the house. Never before had she tolerated company this long in her own space, let alone this kind of company. He seemed so harmless when he was ill. Sort of pathetic.

_And then, Wham! Tries to kill you with his own medicine._

She rubbed her forearm, frowning at the squandered generosity.

_The inconsiderate bastard couldn't even have the mind to apologize. Asshole._

The hallway was still dim and small lights at the base of wall followed Bulma's pace as she silently headed to the kitchen. She paused only for a brief moment to peer at Vegeta's sleeping form. He was still leaning in the same position as the last she saw him. The soup, needle, and water were still on the nightstand where she left it. A disdained growl escaped her grimace before she closed her eyes in cogitation and continued toward the incentive for checking on him.

The decanter chimed delightfully as she designed it to do. It was like those old coffee ads that always depicted the change in people's appearance as they sipped their first cup of joe in the morning. Only this one started its musical chant upon receiving a signal within the floor board near the kitchen entrance, and automatically began to pour into the previously emplaced mug the night before. Premixed with sugar and cream to her specifications. Temperature moderated so that she could immediately drink it, even. Laziness was always a motivating tool.

Bulma smelled, sipped, sighed, and then smacked her lips in exhausted glee.

_Next on the list is breakfast._

The refrigerator screen enlightened her of what recipes she had available given the contents inside, but personal inspection was more satisfying at times. Nothing appeared appetizing though and she leaned back to grab her coffee again before closing the door.

_Maybe after some TV_.

She veered around the island only to be stopped by a solid figure. Screams ensued, first out of shock, and then to catch her hot mug as it splashed to the floor. The porcelain cover chipped around the rim, revealing a metal inner wall. Bulma scoffed and rubbed her temple before glancing up at Vegeta wrapped in a blanket, casually staring back.

"What are you doing up?" Demand pursed through her lips.

Apparently as sluggish as she, he took a moment to reply. His cheeks were still quite pale, "I needed to get up to stretch."

Bulma pinched the bridge of her nose to hide the sigh. She could not continue to be so callus like this, "Are you thirsty?" A childish nod answered. "Go sit down and I'll bring you some water."

He meandered as best he could to the white couch and seated himself. The cushions swallowed him slightly with the blanket, but he made no effort to relocate out of fear that the itching would return. As long as he stood still, relentless scratching could be avoided.

"Did you take your medicine?" Bulma inquired as she retrieved the empty water carafe from his room along with the syringe. "You better have taken it. I went to some risk in getting it for your unappreciative ass."

Vegeta clenched his jaw upon hearing her voice. For some reason, sound managed to make the skin on his back painfully flinch. He hoarsely answered, "Yes."

"Good. I have another one for you. I assume you can inject it yourself." The volume increased to his dismay as she approached the couch with water and three sets of pills, "And I have these for you. It will help ease any pain among other things. Now, I need to get your temperature."

She stuck the thermometer at him expectantly, and reluctantly he obediently allowed her to place it under his tongue, mere seconds later pulling it out with the beep. He sat back with a subtle cringe.

37.6°C.

"Heh. Well, it's leveled off at least. I don't know what your body temperature should be, so I can only take this as a good sign." Bulma pulled herself back up and returned to the kitchen for another cup of coffee.

_The second cup is never as good as the first._

"How do you feel?"

Vegeta breathed deeply to prepare for movement. Never in any of his recent missions could he recall being rendered so useless. There was the stiffness for several days. The unyielding migraine. Then nothing but dizzy, indistinct nightmares. And a face hanging over him with a sharp object. When he finally awoke, he was tucked carefully under the thin cream dressings of an unfamiliar bed. The house appeared equally bright and naked. It was sort of reminiscent of the sterile environment he was accustomed to on the bases, except for the overly fluffy furniture and hint of flowers. The odor was close, though.

"Hello."

"How does it look?" Came the crass reply, peering up to the thin pajama and newly coffee clad woman from her position behind the matching chair. He exhaled to gather the pills and water from the coffee table. Four good gulps and it was gone. His throat still felt dry.

She shook her head and plopped down in the chair. A remote on the table immediately lit up, beeping favorably. Bulma leaned over gratuitously from her already sprawled arrangement to push the flashing green button, which resulted in the dissolution of a large paneled mirror, hung above the fireplace, into several moving shadows. Within seconds, an image appeared, to which the woman began controlling the sequence of color and sound with minutes nudges of her remote.

Vegeta sat rigid from the sudden transformation, gawking suspiciously with wide-eyes at the small devise Bulma held sufficiently enough to distract her.

"It's a TV. Television. Pretty moving pictures?" Her eyes sunk a little as he tried to mouth the word "television" to himself and continued to flip through channels. Grumbles emitted under her breath, "You can't tell me you haven't seen something like this where you come from."

Vegeta scrunched uncomfortably with a disgruntled expression, but deterred any response. He could tell she was not in the mood, and the last thing he wanted was confrontation when he still could not think clearly.

Bulma continued to sip her coffee, as was the churlish morning ritual, and tapped a button every second or so until she came across something that caught her interest. Crude, brightly colored images of what might be earth-like organisms were moving rapidly around the screen. High pitched speech emanated from the creatures in a fast paced conversation Vegeta could only pick up part of. They were talking about some rabbit hole. And possibly a doctor. She chuckled as the round headed entity holding a black narrow object put his head down the fissure, which apparently belonged to the other gray long-eared creature. Behind it, the owner of the hole placed a sparkly red tube under the other's backside and eccentrically snuck away. Before long, an explosion occurred loud enough to make Vegeta jerk slightly. Itching in his side promptly developed. The round headed creature subsequently jumped and squealed, making him cringe less subtly as all his hair stood on end. The female beside him was completely unaware of his affliction though, and chose this moment to cackle loudly, "Ah, classic!"

She switched the channel and the saiyan internally sighed, trying his best to push down the growing urge to dig fingers into his torso. Periodically, she would stop and listen to unclear blips of conversations before moving on. One particular station showed a man pointing to a map marked up with blue and red lines. Swirling his hands around a certain region, he reported "a cold front moving southeast as a low pressure zone…" the voice tailed off before coming back, "Expect temperatures in the low twenties with heavy rain." Vegeta continued to peer at the screen, unsure of how the man could make such assumptions about temperature with that little information. His deliberation was cut short as Bulma flipped the station again.

"God. After two hundred and fifty years, you would think people could come up with something better than this crap." She sighed, converting the screen back to its mirror state and tossing her narrow instrument onto the low square table where the entire fiasco began. With a now more adjusted disposition, she could confidently tend to her sick subject, "Are you hungry?"

Vegeta swallowed, "More thirsty."

She nodded and got out of her chair for the kitchen again, returning immediately with a refilled decanter, "I see you finished all of the water from yesterday. You should have said something if you needed more."

"I was trying to stay still. You disappeared."

Bulma cocked an eyebrow, "Trying to stay still…"

He seized the water without warning, gulping it down with mild surprise at how the drug eased its effect on him. The worthwhile retort was in mid-surface before he realized that the woman was already back on the other side of the great room, lifting a large round object from a hook on the wall.

"Would you like noodles or would soup be better?"

Soup must have been the bland stuff in the bowl, "noodles are fine."

Breakfast was prepared quickly with the aide of her personally cherished pressure steamer, and an array of spicy noodles, steamed buns, and local white cabbage were placed on the islet. Bulma motioned for Vegeta to take one of the stools, forcing the removal of his quilt. The medication was as successful as she promised, the knee-buckling pain receding, the hum reducing itself to a faint grounding pitch. Stretching, he allowed his skin to adjust to the air. Bare muscles still twitched uncontrolled to the shock on his system, informative that he was not quite past recovery.

They were seated across from each other, Bulma occasionally glancing him over carefully with hooded lashes. Even yet somewhat incapacitated, the alien composed himself with perfect posture, obviously a quick expert with his use of the two thin porcelain sticks provided for him. The deep bowl was positioned flat against his palm, while the other, with the I.V. catheter still attached, glided the tool gracefully and gathered a heap of the slick substance within. The pepper seasoning was light in case his taste buds could not handle the stinging sensation, yet still flavorful enough for her to stomach. A familiar mantra playfully giggled with the memory of her mother fluttering on how breakfast in China was as blistering to the mouth as the summers were to the skin. She reached over for more ground paste.

Vegeta paused and watched her wrapped forearm drape across the table and scoop up the condiment. After a moment, his eyes narrowed his hand dropping from the bowl. Something was not right.

The hostess outwardly failed to noticed the change in her guest's behavior, all the while nervously stirring the mixture and shoving some of the noodles less stylishly into her mouth. The burning ambiance rose in her sinuses, and prickling in her tear ducts could not be pushed back. However, as reflective as the wry smile started, it abruptly lost its embrace when she met a growing scowl on the neighboring visage.

_What!_

"You look different."

Bulma pulled the chopsticks from her mouth and clamped down on the stray noodle before the end slipped entirely with them. The confused expression did not befit her round, crystal eyes as she sifted them back and forth.

"Hm?" She replied innocently.

"You look different," he pointed, "Your hair is not the same as the last time I saw you."

She swallowed, feeling up the shortened locks. Of course he would not know, "Oh, this. Heh, you like it?"

"What about the things around your eyes. Why are they gone?"

Her hand followed the curvature of her now reddened cheeks. In all the stress, she had not thought carefully about how to explain this, "Uh, well, I don't always wear them. And they are called glasses."

"Glasses."

"Yes. They are a vision aide for people who can't see clearly."

"Your vision is fine."

He was right, of course. Bulma had no prescription just as her natural hair color was also not auburn, for that matter. Her mother's hair was a bright, glamorous shade of crimson that she neglected to inherit. Rather she received her father's brain and unruly golden to match the insane demeanor she often privately possessed.

"And how do you know that?"

"You don't squint."

She quirked her lips together, not sure how to reply, "Well, not all glasses are the same. I have a weak prescription."

"You are a bad liar."

_Perhaps a refill on coffee is in order, dear_. Bulma pulled herself up and turned stiffly to the counter, "Tea?"

"That was not your natural hair color before either. Why did you change it?"

She chuckled lightly to offset the unnerving direction this conversation was headed. She did not like being placed on the spot so bluntly, "Vegeta, people on this planet like to do things with their hair. It's fashionable."

"That's not why it's different now. Tell me the reason."

_What? Get real, bub_. She glared back while fishing in her cup with a long spoon, "Why are you so interested?"

"You are not who you say you are."

"Really." Both eyebrows lifted, forgetting her overdose of cream plopped into the brewing dispenser. The stunned silence was swiftly followed by a forced snigger as she pulled out the mug and reseated herself across from her sudden inquisitor, "So tell me, mister alien investigator, who am I supposed to be?"

Vegeta had no answer and instead chose to persist his intense eye contact. Her mental voice awoke him, thoughts booming as loudly as his own. She mentioned prototypes failing. A ship. Distrust again loomed as he searched his database thoroughly for any previous signs he failed to catch. He had been attempting to decipher her internal dialog for as long as he had contact with the woman, but every moment in close proximity was diverted by some random image or thought. Eventually, it became too difficult to keep track of the information as slapdash as it was. However, the small fortune of having access to her now would not go to waste.

When the silence became unbearable, Bulma made her point, "Look, I'm just a scientist from a long line of very wealthy, likeminded scientists. I do this," she motioned to her scalp, "because I happen to enjoy my anonymity from a world that entertains themselves in my family's lifestyle."

"So, you're hiding."

Bulma narrowed her eyes, a little more than irritated by the backhanded comment, regardless of its aimlessness, "No. I am a very private person. I am also very well known, which means that if I wish to have any personal space, I must make it so that others don't recognize me."

A dry smirk returned her indignant glare, "But you don't look any different."

Teeth clenched, "I look dissimilar enough. Besides, 'Bulma' is a common name in recent years, in part _because_ of my celebrity." She swiped up a sticky bun and chewed thoughtfully around the insult forming in her throat.

"You don't like it when people assume your position," Vegeta remarked after some pause with a hidden lilt of understanding.

_What are you a want-to-be psychologist too?_ This time, the sardonic retort could not be helped, "Well, aren't you insightful."

From that, any sympathetic nature disappeared, "Who are you really?"

"I told you, I'm a scientist," Bulma retrieved both of their bowls, considering that it was time breakfast ended for her guest.

"Who do you work for?"

"Heh," her voice broke into a more sarcastic snort, "I work for myself."

Confusion parried her opposition with a façade of certainty, "No one works for themselves. That's not the way it is."

"Perhaps not where you come from," she repossessed her coffee and headed toward the exit in retreat. The sooner she reached her office, the sooner she could ignore him until later, "I am the daughter of the Great Dr. Hiro Kobayashi who happens to be the president of a very large company called Capsule Corporation. I," she twirled a girlish pirouette in his direction with fake courtesy before turning the corner into the hall, "am the heir to that massive thrown, and therefore can do whatever the fuck I want."

The saiyan remained on the stool, craning his head toward the ghost tendrils of her slacks as Bulma wisped quickly away. A Half-puzzled, half-affronted expression crossed his eyes as he retrieved himself to follow. Rounding the corner, Vegeta barely caught her enter a darkened room to her left, and without hesitation, he blazed his way past the narrow entry only to be halted at the door frame. A door never shut before him; rather the stark transition from light pastel coloring to dim inky gray jarred his vision out of focus. Standing there, he blinked several times and gathered his surroundings, "What is this?"

Bulma, already slouched back on her seat rest, cursed herself for not taking the precautions of installing a sliding lock on the room when she manufactured the home. But, this was not Capsule Corp. This was not the city. In normal situations, she would have no requirement of such blockades. This place was supposed to be her sanctuary. Her safe.

She sighed and looked back at him from the dimness of her desk, pausing as if she were evaluating his presence, "This?" Acquiescing to a weird smirk, she waved to the grey walls that lined the square space around several flat monitors. Miniature fish swam leisurely from one edge of the screen to the next in a figment dance on their animated coral reef. "This is the Wall of Bulma. Come into my office."

He cautiously considered the invitation, slowly heading toward the facing stool next to a bulky printer and a few discarded electrical components scavenged off of a mainframe stuck in one corner. The room was barren except for the large computer to her side and random paperwork strewn around the desk. Scribbled napkins, many with coffee stains, were clipped to various notebooks like 3M post-it notes in an attempt to organize what random drawing belonged to where. The woman put her coffee cup down on one of them and raised her arms in a cat-like stretch. She looked almost anime, "This is usually where I go to work on stuff when I need to get away. I don't have anyone to distract me – well, except for you."

He glanced to her speakers hooked to a long cord and ear buds. It reminded him of the attendant in the ward and the sharp vibrations Vegeta could overhear even beyond the ten centimeter barricade. He had odd taste, "You have," he stopped to think of the word. Occasionally, the males along the river would come up on motorbikes with equally dissident noise baring from small boxes. When he questioned, they gave him a term for it, "music … you have music on that thing?"

"You know music," came the flat retort.

"You _humans_ are not the only creatures on this mud hole you like to call a planet," he spat at her doubt. She left him there to figure it out on his own, after all. "There are others beings equally capable of recognizing it."

Bulma gave a blatant sigh to the re-emerging attitude she was beginning to genuinely dislike. Fiddling with her would be post-it note, "You know, this isn't going to work. Just because you are angry at the fact that you can't leave this 'mud hole' as you genially put it, doesn't give you permission to accost me, my species, or my fucking planet."

He leaned back as though he were looking for the fight, "What makes you think I can't leave?"

"What other reason would you come all the way out here with me if you thought there was another way out?"

He snapped his jaw shut and paused, "You're perceptive."

She let down her other arm, steadily losing blood flow anchored above her head, "Just observant."

"So what is the real reason why you dragged me out here?"

She shrugged, "I already told you." He observed her skeptically as the woman sharply leaned forward and rubbed a finger along the edge of her mouse in an effort to avoid eye contact. The atoll suddenly disappeared to reveal a bright blue background that filled the room with a sort of hazy glow, "I want to know more about you."

"It's not just that."

Bulma nodded in agreement, shifting herself so that she could reveal the big bad secret, "There is a ship I can't get into."

He was right. Tilting his head, "So there is a ship."

"Three of them actually."

He pushed forward threateningly, "I could get you to tell me where they are." She didn't respond, but kept playing with the napkin and took a sip of her coffee uninterested, "I could break you without effort."

"You could." She faced him full on. The intention was not to let on about this until she was satisfied that he could handle it, or that she was prepared for the worst. Yet, guilt was equipped to remind her how easily she left him alone and sick. She already broke her promise and trust. Plausibly, in her mind, the worst was seemingly facing her, and she could only work with what she had, "But you won't because it would not serve you to harm me. I am the only who knows about it."

"Then, I'll hurt someone else."

"Will you, now?" She bluffed. Swallowing more slowly, Bulma carefully considered her words while recalling everything she remembered from her discussions with Mr. Yun, "Do you really want to go back to that?"

Vegeta gave her no opportunity to continue the charade though, and grabbing her upper arm, he forced his way past any mental barriers between them. In his demand, "Tell me where they are."

Bulma backed up with sudden shock, the electrical-like pulse slipped up her arm from his tight grip. A ferocious weight pressed against her eyelids and for a moment, she thought she might actually pass out.

_Tell me_.

For him, a nearly random series of images filtered passed his cerebral banks, recording all impressive signs that could prove important for later. With it came the flood of emotional synapses that reflected natural responses that this sort of contact always held. Fear was the most prominent, followed shortly by a less tangible sensation along with a series of randomly aligning images. A bright room appeared surpassed by an echoed, lighthearted giggle. Rain poured as hands reached down to pull her out of the mud. A long table stretched forward lined with old worn faces taking in every syllable of her resolute speech. Her lab coat tucked carefully in place as two others made way into a spotless white room before her. An oval blue tablet handed over to someone vaguely familiar. He was bald. And short.

Vegeta's grasp tightened further with draining patience. Still, Bulma was unable to say anything as she scrunched eyes shut and unconsciously blocked him out. Instead, more recognizable images came forth of individuals he had seen before. Disturbingly familiar faces; it was almost as though he was back in the dreary field again, calling out the saiyan's anger and daring him to end it then and there. The trees were whipping wildly as her aircraft landed. She stepped out into the rain, calling anxiously to the group that confronted him while others unknown bypassed her into the clearing.

She had been physically there.

As though her skin were consumed by acid, he released her with a jerk and knelt back warily on the stool. Subtle panic was masked by his perceived wrath, and he briefly wondered what exactly she may have put in the 'medicine' she was giving him to result in such vulnerability to her suggestions. He followed too blindly, "For someone who has such loud thoughts, your mind is deceivingly well guarded."

Bulma clutched herself close in effort to regain some control over her swimming senses. Challenging an equaled temper with her attacker for the second time in a twenty-four hour cycle, her logical brain dissuaded hasty retaliation as it realized just what he attempted, "Is that what your implant is for? Telepathy?"

"No."

She creased her lips thin with the declaration, "Regardless, then, whatever you now know must be the truth. After all, I am a bad liar."

* * *

AN: I realize some stuff is strange in the chapter with how I describe it, but it will make sense in chapter 11 or so. As a teaser, the blips of images Vegeta sees while attempting to force information from Bulma are references to future chapters and memories. Also, yeah I changed Bulma's hair. She's a blond in my lil' reality. I know. Please don't complain, for if you have issues with it, I can only refer you to the prologue and author's note therein – this is AU baby. So, uhm, **review** and I'll continue! Bye:) 


	12. Identity

**AN: I don't own anything. This goes out to the, oh, six people who actually read, comment, and fav my stories for various reasons. Thanks. You guys are keeping me motivated. Enjoy! And if you like, please leave a review.**

**Chapter 11: Identity**

Bulma placed her sixth cup of coffee down on the thin agate coaster. Although Vegeta was hesitant to make the next move, she would have to think quickly if she wanted to resolve the growing threat that he might actually do something. So, her explanations would be long and tedious, giving the very suspicious saiyan something to chew on for a while as she diffused the time bomb she somehow assembled. It was painfully clear that he did not trust her, which followed some sense – she withheld rather important information. In their brief physical contact though, he managed to discover something about her that unsettled him. Really, it troubled her more to not know what it was he sensed, and for this, she allowed herself a moment to reflect on another approach with honesty. It had been a while.

"My name really is Bulma," she took a deep breath and relaxed weary eyes on the afternoon sunbeams striking trees beyond her bay window. Fall was guiding with it cooler weather, at last. Soon, the leaves would start turning, and then, perhaps, she should air out the place, "Although, I answer to several surnames."

"What is 'surname'?" Came the quiet reply.

The woman drew another breath with a questioning glance before realizing her error. He may have mastered the basics of language enough to get by, but the alien was still ignorant to specifics, "Surname means 'last name'. Uhm … like a family name. You have one, don't you?"

He twitched and stayed silent.

"Anyway, I have several. Kobayashi is my corporate family name, like a public name that everyone recognizes. Briefs is my real family name and that is what I go by privately."

The question was obvious, "Why would you waste your time with two names?"

Humans always have their reasons for everything. Bulma was not quite willing yet to explain hers, "Well, for one, everyone knows who I am. It's difficult to walk down the street in any city as Bulma Kobayashi and not be noticed."

"Is that a bad thing?"

"Not always," she conceded, "My father and most of my family have accepted it."

"And you haven't."

She shrugged, "It's complicated. I'm not sure if you could understand what it's like to be known no matter where you go. I'll have people hunt me down for a photo, only to find out later that they slandered me in some stupid tabloid. There's always a smile to present; impeccable fashion and genius qualities my relatives are all celebrated for. It's a tiring image to keep up."

Perhaps they had some things in common. Maybe she was running from something too. Vegeta remained quiet for a long minute trying to decipher what she just said. He knew all too well what it was like to be recognized no matter where he went. To be hated for no reason, or good reason. To be despised for the image he represented, and revered by those who he would be less inclined to associate with. But, he was a product of circumstance. Were all scenarios the same?

"So, what is this corporation?"

"Capsule Corp.?" A curl developed on her petite face, "Heh, it's an empire in all its intents and purposes."

Monopoly was more like it. Capsule Corporation started small as a company that specialized in inventions for the average citizen. Small things after the War for convenience. Originally based in China, of all places, the three founding families eventually moved to Japan, where they created a corporate center. Their initial funding for this venture came from the energy commissions, who were all busy reallocating their spenditures from the waning oil window, literally sucked to the bottom of the barrel for better alternatives. Hydrogen reservoirs and nuclear fission were both available technologies, but untouched for these purposes for nearly two hundred years. The Briefs family simply created a tool that made it cheap for the average consumer and environmentally safe, pushing the rest of the oil tycoons to cooperate. Finally.

Synthetic manufacturing of oil-based products, like plastic, was the next logical step in company projects. Again, this was something already available by the end of the twentieth century, but cost more energy than it provided. The 'Kobayashi' signature started there, refining energy use to make what little oil-production left exploitable for all of the industries that still required it. This series of inventions promoted a myriad of issues from pollution control to source material, allowing the company more ventures to spend their time and growing funding on. Completely pollutant free manufacturing of artificially derived compounds was a breakthrough, earning Bulma's grandfather a Nobel Prize. Recycling hydrogen tanks slowly filled like giant inert batteries; another metaphor for the growing powerhouse. There was no need to mine for coal or gas anymore because both the production of synthetic materials as well as the energy economy was able to shift in a single phase.

Water was the next front to attack. Consumption was at an all time high, pollution from the last World War and explosion of industrial use everywhere only lessened the usability of this precious commodity. Fingers dug potently into this issue, where recycling and rehabilitation were the main keys. With energy issues out of the way, it would matter little how much one needed to rip water off a hydrous clay mineral, or to reduce the dissolved inorganic components in sea water.

The best part was that the Kobayashi family, the synthesis name representing the great three lineages in the company itself, owned all of the patents required for assembly of these materials and innovations. The Briefs family was at the forefront of it all, and they knew what they were doing.

"Today, one of our company specialties is the development and sales of patents. Currently, we own 96.3 of all technical copyrights in the world."

Listening intently, he arched one fine brow, "What are patents?"

"Well, they're legal rights to legitimate inventions. Anytime someone invents something or brings an item for sale into the world market, they must patent the idea so that others can't reproduce it without their permission. We primarily purchase these patents and either sell them or find someone who's willing to make the item for us," Bulma smiled then, "We're interested in technology, Vegeta. Thus, it would make sense that our own research division is devoted to expanding this knowledge base so that it's more effective."

Humans, it seems, did not deviate far from their maker.

The alien peered down into his half empty glass of water, gulping it up in one swallow, "Then, I'm assuming that technology is your form of currency."

"Yeah," she sighed. The smile broadened before facing him to retrieve a refill, "In a way, you could say that."

He had to snigger at himself for thinking it. These people and their 'inventions' were nothing by comparison to what he was familiar with. And they were wasteful with what they did have. Looking around the large domed ceiling, Vegeta mentally noted all of the lack of technology he encountered since he arrived. There were no sophisticated modes of travel or communication. Their utility devices were quaint at best, although the female possessed the most urbane items he had seen since she dropped him off in the middle of nowhere. The magical mirror hung quietly on the wall.

Even if it were the case that she was hiding the best toys for herself, it still did not explain away the fact that she was unwilling to get him off the planet. Moreover, she held her superiority over his head.

_You wouldn't survive a moment there. You wouldn't even know what to do._

Bulma glanced up from the island to see the half-smile as though she caught the thought itself. Resting her chin on smooth knuckles, she entertained using his arrogant expression to her advantage, "Oh, I could imagine that everything I have must be trivial to you."

The saiyan snapped his attention to her.

She spilled the charm more carelessly as she sat back down, a rosier blush on her cheeks, "Which is exactly why you are so important to me."

"Feh," he grunted, taking the replenished glass more gently, "You're convinced I have something to offer."

"I'd like to make a trade."

An incredulous chortle pushed forth. No, he was wrong. She was even less clever than he was giving credit.

"Look, I understand your desire to leave," The woman's grin turned serious, "If I were stuck in a foreign place with no reference point, I'd probably want to leave too; regardless of how good the conditions are. All I'm asking of you is to help me understand the devices you came with and I'll help you leave."

"I don't have time for this," Vegeta replied dully.

"Hell, I'll even build the fucking ship for you, if I have to," Bulma pushed emphatically.

"You already have ships," he reminded her.

"That may be true," she confessed reluctantly, "but as I told you on the plane, they're damaged."

"Damaged," he repeated in a mocking tone.

To his dismay, the reply was very somber, "We can't get into two of them, and the other large one we had to break."

Vegeta knit both brows down, curious to what she really meant by 'break'. From the air, Bulma could see the scars left along the tree line, and using this method she was able to locate the crafts fairly quickly. Hidden well within the mountains, there was enough time to allow the heiress and her cohorts to extract the vessels as carefully as they could. However, as luck would have it, the house-sized saucer-like object Tien came across was somehow electrified, and it cost many hours to overload the external hull and drag the silver thing to the ground. Even once that was accomplished, it took another several days to find an entrance using what amounted to a bulldozer denting in the frame. Bulma had hoped that the orbs would be easier to access.

"What exactly did you do to it?"

Biting the side of her cheek, "Pretty much rendered it inoperable. We had to gut it – removed everything inside. But, it seems you aliens still use electricity," a cheeky laugh betrayed her embarrassment, "so we were at least able to salvage what I guess is a functioning computer we can't use."

Now, this might be of some interest. The saiyan pondered over her implied gesture, "I take it you want me to tell you what the device is for."

"Well, the machine is to operate the ship," she assumed, "I want to know how it works."

The saiyan huffed, pushing away the snapping itch to just sidestep all of the useless banter and force her compliance. Common sense cautioned, though; vowing that if she really was the only person with this information, then killing her would do nothing. He would be back to square one, "Well, what about the other two? You didn't render those 'inoperable', did you?"

The woman hesitated before making her decision to tell him with a slightly more self-conscious grimace. She had an unsettling feeling that one of the orbs likely belonged to him, and there was nothing stopping her guest from running once she gave him access. It was too similar to another one she found nearly a decade prior, at any rate. The charred remains of the facetted shell still lay near Mount Pazu, not too far north of where this drama started. Japan was a seemingly popular place.

Fidgeting with her fingers, "I don't really know if they're damaged, to be honest. We just can't open them."

"Of course you can't," Vegeta laughed, rolling his eyes at the ridiculous gesture, "They're locked."

She hated how on target her intuition was at times, and her voice dampened a little in spite of her good fortune, "Can you unlock them?"

"Wouldn't be much of a pilot if I couldn't."

He saw the rays of light flicker in her deep pupils, and a wicked sarcasm leisurely replaced his annoyance.

"It's not that simple. I need a device to do it," Vegeta bluffed. He could get into it either way, but extra tools would be nice. Bulma took a moment to consider all the equipment she had in her possession. There was a utility belt with some unknown objects around the green corpse, but nothing directly associated with the orbs. Movement caught her attention again as Vegeta pointed to his left temple, "I need a scouter."

"Oh," she lit with recognition, "The instrument on your eye when you came here. That can unlock it?"

"Yes," Finally, they were getting somewhere. With more avid attention, he leaned forward, "It has a program that will allow me to communicate with the ship remotely." Gears began to rotate wildly before he cut short her train of thought with a callous snort, "_You_ won't be able to use it."

"Why not?" Bulma gave a disheartened side-glance.

"You need an implant that can function with the scouter," he shifted his finger to the base of his ear.

"What implant? You mean the thing in the back of your head?"

"No," his tone became harsher, emphasizing the area where he was pointing, "It's a small, flat disk implanted in the side of the skull."

"But, the reports said nothing about-"

"I cannot account for the inadequacy of your technology. Much like I cannot validate the tumor your doctors believe I have."

"How did you-" The telepathy. Stopping herself in mid-sentence, Bulma realized the redundancy in her line of thinking. She was not asking the correct questions, "…right. So you touched them like you did with me this morning, using a form of telepathy."

"Heh, _I_ didn't have to touch them," scorn tainted the words.

This affirmation sent another pang of guilt she did not expect. It was never her intention that he became a guinea pig for a panicking administration. In fact, she was still worrying out details from the event so that _she_ did not get further caught up in the mess, "I'm sorry you had to be subjected to that. I imagine it must have been traumatic."

"Don't change the subject."

"Right." His withering glare centered the woman back onto their objective, "Then, if you have a scouter, you can unlock these ships intact?"

"Yes."

If he was going to run, he was going to run. _Se la vi_. She paused before genuinely smiling and straightening herself for the kitchen again, "Then I'll get you a scouter."

"You mean you have one?" He growled skeptically.

"As a matter of fact, I do," she stated simply.

Why was she wasting his time? The snarl grew uncharacteristically exasperated, "Then, give it to me!"

Bulma turned back from the counter, raiding the cupboard for a set of glasses, "I don't have it here, Vegeta. You think I'm that stupid?"

He wanted to badly confirm, but instead held steadfastly with an expression that almost counted as a pout. The hostess simpered subtly before bowing beneath the counter to get out a bottle, "I'm returning to the city soon to handle some business. I'll make arrangements then to get what you need, and we'll work from there."

"What?" Anger returned and the small male stood with the demand, "Not sufficient."

However, Bulma's confidence was renewed now that she made peace with letting him flee. It was useless to fight, so like always, she would have to work with what she had. Perhaps with time, she could pan for more information before he high-jacked the pod and was gone for good, "I can't just take you with me."

An explicative groused in his strange dialect, and before Bulma knew it, she was yet again facing down the threatening narrowed gaze of her guest. This time, however, he abstained from touching her. Restraint seemed to take over his form, "You are not just going to leave me here…"

"I don't have a choice," the blonde challenged, setting the wine bottle down on the island with significant force. Backing down did not seem to be a thing this alien was keen on, "Look, I can't just take you back to a city. You said it yourself – you're a hazard. You think I'm going to let you waltz into a metropolis and murder everyone because you believe it as a convenient method to get what you want? I have responsibility, bud."

"You left me out here with no explanation. Where is your responsibility in that?"

Bulma enlarged the gap between them to size him up. At eye level, it was not difficult. Grabbing the two glasses and rounding the island on the other side, "Perhaps you aren't as advanced as I thought you were."

Self-control was slipping, but the woman continued to press, pouring out half the container. She loved Australian wine. Dry red wines were her favorite, and she nipped at the first cup with fervor while she inspected her guest, "I brought you all the way out here to observe you for several reasons. For one, I wanted to see if you were really as mindless as the doctors suggested you were."

"You take an awfully big risk."

"Whatever in the name of progression," was the startlingly serious reply.

He chuckled, "Dangerous."

Bulma offered the second glass and rested her feet up on the bay window, "I knew you weren't the rampaging type the moment I met you, anyway."

"Really."

"You're too calculating and manipulative to waste all your energy on slaughter."

Vegeta had to catch himself before slamming his rebuttal. Unsure if she was dishing an insult or compliment, he warily turned to lean on the counter space.

"Your counterparts, on the other hand, seemed like the type to be put on the front line."

Nappa. Radditz. Vegeta's face went blank as he digested this bit, not quite comprehending how much information the woman was actually guarding. She had technology, but: "What exactly do you know?"

"A lot more than you think." She nudged the glass toward him again, charisma dashing lines below her eyes, "It's not poisoned, I promise."

"No," he cautiously took the glass and sniffed it before tasting the bitter substance, "It seems that you have a lot of random information you don't know how to interpret."

"Case in point," Bulma received a quizzical look as she pursed a more relaxed grin. Perhaps he would not be as bad as she was beginning to dread. For a while, she could almost hear Yamcha's _I-told-you-so_ routine chanting in the background. Goku even displayed some doubt when she finally informed him of the invader's whereabouts, concerned that she was placing unnecessary jeopardy on herself to make amends. However, living through three consecutive altercations in a day made her realize that the alien probably just required someone to be concise. Trust was not in his vocabulary, "I told you before that your arrival caused a lot of problems – and I mean a lot."

"I thought you were the only person who knew I was here."

"Your ships fall from the sky like huge meteors," she quipped, "It's bound to make an impression. Besides that, you came loaded with a whole group of other aliens bent on mayhem; who killed several government officers, by the way. Now, _I_ – and only I – have the technology and bodies that I don't know what to do with, and the government is pounding down my throat for an explanation pertaining to the bizarre chain of events you happen to be tangled in. I'd like to lie to my government and make them believe you don't exist. Can't quite do that locked in a city with psycho who cannot insure me he won't be violent. Further, I'd like to put all of this information to good use, but the truth of the matter is that I can't do that without your cooperation because you are the only person who can tell me their significance."

In her monolog, even though she continued to stress his sole contribution to her cause, it dawned on Vegeta that he might not be alone. Suddenly, a sense of shame hit him for not, at least, inquiring before now. But, he had no idea. He never saw them die. He just assumed, "Is Nappa alive?"

She took a breath from the deluge of information to consider the most acceptable clear-cut answer. Calmly, "No."

_Shit_.

* * *

AN: The art of persuasion … Short. Incredibly difficult to write. It took me ten months to complete, in fact; of which maybe three versions (not one, not two, but THREE) were entirely scrapped. This was partly because of some reviewers that went 'what?' at the last chapter, but more importantly, because I had to write a proper beginning. Hopefully, this explains some things now. Hopefully, it wasn't too boring either in the event of character development. Anyway, the next couple of post should be smoother and less information filled. Thanks for reading and if you really care, please leave a review. 


	13. Hoi Poi

**AN: I don't own anything. Thank you for your reviews. If you care now and can spare two seconds of your time – assuming this isn't all that bad of a story – please leave another note. They are greatly appreciated. Happy reading!**

**Chapter 12: Hoi Poi**

He felt like a sitting duck. Vegeta overheard his cook chortling the phrase at him one day, and although he had little clue as to what it meant, he nevertheless felt the inflection behind her words.

The farm woman had taken to letting Vegeta help in her garden, as work in the slate mines was on hiatus until he felt better. Of course, everyday he would assure her repeatedly that he was capable; that he could handle his own. The woman would just look back with her toothy smile and nod, all the while pulling him behind her house for some needed weeding. The job was effortless and boring to him. The rigorous labor at least got his mind off things. Away from the fact that he unable to leave.

He knew better than to argue with her, though. She was his source of food and no one should mess with that. And in truth, he was beginning to think that she enjoyed his company in all its surliness. His shortcomings in agriculture were evident, and often she had to fix his errors as he pulled out a vegetable by accident. Still, she would chatter away about aimless things. Her family by the river and the countless generations that lived there. How big the village was before the dam breached long ago. Occasionally, she would ask him little questions. Unthreatening queries, like she was testing the ground around her guest. When something became too personal and Vegeta snapped, she never took offense, merely humming a tune and randomly changing the subject again.

Stewing in the afternoon sun, he had to remind himself of Bulma's intentions. She promised to return, so he let her leave. Again. Without any knowledge of how long he would have to be stuck out here.

"Ya know I can't stop you from leaving once you're near the ships, so what I'm asking is really an act of charity." That was what the woman finally said as an attempt to make him feel better about the whole debacle. She tried every way of luring his cooperation, down to the most direct. He liked that tactic better than manipulation. But still, "You can make this as easy or as hard as you want. I can tell you though, the sooner I get back to the city, the sooner I can make arrangements for you to leave. It's that simple."

A long delay, "How long will you be gone?"

"I don't know."

He exhaled through his nose, "How do I know you will be back?"

"I returned this time, didn't I?" The sweet manipulation resurfaced in the way she simpered at him. The way her eyes sparked betrayed a hidden sense of desperation. She needed this from him, "It wouldn't do either of us any good to leave you out here forever."

He closed his eyes with a grunt, "Well, at least we have something straight."

All he could ask himself now was why it was so damn important for her to understand the remains of his struggle. Bulma had an explanation for that too, but it failed to fit. She proclaimed that this was a golden opportunity to better her race. _What race would wish to embrace this technology? _Suddenly, the concept of the Planet Trade made Vegeta falter, angry that he ruffled the memory. Out there was an evil place, he decided. A species so utterly useless should count their blessings they were not yet discovered.

"Careful," his cook chimed over from her side of the terrace. Her doting smile just frustrated him more.

Muttering a foreign curse, he threw the green tangle of roots down between his thighs. _This is bullshit_. Contemplating the risks of defying his orders, Vegeta snapped up and began to walk down the path to the main trail.

The farm woman sat there for a minute, trying to settle on whether she should chase after him. Then, a small mumble escaped her lips as she grinned down at the cabbage. He would back for lunch. He always returned.

* * *

High pitched metallic sounds emanated from the surround sound speakers in the upper corner of the room, and the fast-paced tempo of background drums was soon accompanied by equally fervent movement on the screen. Cars zoomed past the camera as it panned streets in downtown Tokyo, following a fashionably dressed Asian woman on her way to work. As directed, she carried the empty briefcase as though she would lug a piece of furniture, the thick grip of the classy handle just a bit oversized for her petite hands. Foot traffic all around, she nearly tossed the leather bag forward on the jaunt, her white-powdered face lighting up with fake worry and eccentric pose. And with prediction, contents magically spilled out on another clipped shot, all of which included the daily needs of the average business man. A phone, papers, and of course the ever expensive electric tablet crashed to the sidewalk and into the ushering breeze that followed, leaving the baffled supermodel standing within an uncaring horde.

Then, the scene stopped, an exuberant Japanese voice intervening with his sound advice, "Don't let this happen to you!"

Rewind.

The camera went back a few takes, opening up with the same woman sauntering down the street, her hands free this time aside from a light blue purse. Her heels clicked on the sidewalk where her mythical items just fell, and she smiled into the wind with a knowing glance.

The bustling music became even more excited as her smirk widened and she turned toward the camera. Refined fingers lifted, wrapped around a narrow blue capsule to showcase the word _'CC'_ printed on the side, as she finally spoke her two crucial words in concert with the concluding notes of the guitar, "Hoi Poi!"

After a moment, the file ended and the computer blipped to a standard interface, motioning the lights to come back on command. Two young men immediately replaced the view with self-assured confidence as they eagerly awaited a response from the row of older gentleman and sole woman pondering over the curved table. Bulma sat at the very back of the ellipse, a delicate hand playing a pen against her temple. She hated the advertising group and their constant replication of the stereotypes. Noting the discrepancy between the type of 'business' woman carrying the bag and the contents inside was only part of the issue she had with it. But according to the all of the studies conducted via the previous ten-year census, these sorts of commercials still sold all over Asia and that was all that mattered as far as the company was concerned.

"I like it," she spoke first, cutting off any opportunity for the rest of the committee to make a decision. Their input was just for show anyway. "Publish it."

With that, the meeting was adjourned. The fellow members at the top of the Capsule Corp. food chain gathered their things, and chatting resumed on either side of them. These conferences were a rarity, merely scheduled to update the progress of the capsule patents from each department. Advertising and promotion was only one of them, the senior advisor patting his two lower ranked on the back for a fine job. There was also the patent department that oversaw securing their design through each step in the process as well as administration that set deadlines for its official release. Research and development was her division, and although she was technically a part of the administration as a corporate executive in chair, she also chose to take the report over the senior engineers from the Fidel Group. The last thing she needed was their opposition while she tried in vain to argue for what she wanted.

Bulma followed suite, keeping to herself and the mountain of paperwork before her. The advertising was on its way with no true working product. This was a real dilemma.

"Taking the initiative, I see. I think that's great."

The loving voice did not deter her resolve. A feminine frown reached her cherry lips as she looked up to the fatherly figure across the table, "No, you dropped the ball. I'm just picking it up for you."

The slender man cocked his chin, and a wrinkled smile tried to ward away ill-effects from the unexpected remark, "That's a little blunt, don't you think?"

"It's the truth."

Everyone sensed her casual tone, a looming sign that Bulma Kobayashi was not in a good mood, and silence slowly dampened their business talk. Mr. Kobayashi glanced up at the worried faces directed at him. If there was a serious problem, no one seemed willing to mention it during the meeting. With a nod, "If you all wouldn't mind, I think we would like to speak privately."

For the next minutes, Bulma watched as the other men left, her fingers flexing subtly around one of the folders containing her list of complaints. For some reason, anxiety knotted her stomach and she had to think more avidly why she was here so late in the game. Her father sat in a relaxed pose to one side; a studious expression emplaced, ready to analyze why she was upset this time and what he needed to do to mollify it. These sorts of stages were common place in the Briefs family. Most people knew when to stay away.

"So what's wrong, Princess?"

She _hated_ being called that. Grinding out, "We have serious issues with the patents."

Graying eyebrows raised and a sigh ushered forth, "Tell me something I don't know. Why didn't you mention this in the meeting? I was waiting for you."

"Wai-" she shifted toward him sharply, brows knit down, "Since when is it suddenly my problem to fix your mess? If you know there are problems, then make an executive decision."

"And what am I supposed to do?"

How was this so hard to comprehend? Bulma flattened her hands on the report in a huff, "Push back the release date."

"That's not possible," he said with a kind smile that only seemed to anger the younger more, "I promised a deadline and I intend on sticking with it."

With that, she raised her arms up in defeat, "You see _that's_ the real problem. You are always making these promises that are unrealistic."

"That's not true-"

"And every time we come into crunch time, it's an ordeal to get the half-assed finished product out on the market."

"Now wait a minute-"

"And then its years of fiddling out the bugs, dealing with disgruntled clients because we can't get our act together."

"Bulma, calm down."

"We cannot afford to do this with the capsules!" She finished vehemently, "Financially or otherwise."

"Wait." Mr. Kobayashi leaned forward, an intent look in his eyes, "No one is suggesting that we rush this product beyond the scope of what we are capable."

"That is exactly what you are asking me to do," she replied with an emphatic gesture, "If you had just given me the project in the first place, this never would have happened."

"Really. And where have you been?" Suddenly the tables were turned. His daughter slid a glare between her lashes as she leaned against in the chair. Her defiance was enough to egg in some more, "In the last year, you have been handling your own affairs outside this company. Times when we needed you, you have been avoiding opportunities to take the central role. It was here the entire time to take."

"Right." The glower intensified, "Right. Place that responsibility on my shoulders, the Vise Chair of this company _in training_. You know as well as I do that one, I am not in the position to take over projects commissioned out to other companies-"

"You needed to step up to the plate then. I waited as long as I could for you to tidy your issues and come to me."

"I did," she hissed lowly before continuing with her rant, "and two, my personal life has nothing to do with the affairs of this company."

"Of course not. You are very good at keeping it separate."

The furtive comment was meant to slip under her skin, and it seemingly worked as she turned heatedly to an intern standing in the doorway, "What!"

The young man nearly dropped his report in shock, unknowingly walking in on them. Bulma continued to seethe from the table, frustration radiating from her as vibrantly as the sunlight that reflected against long scarlet strands curled snuggly into her French twist. When the intern failed to immediately respond, another verbal lashing was attempted before Mr. Kobayashi interjected with business savvy, "Darling, there's no reason to bite his head off just because we're having a little exchange."

Successfully diverting the time bomb with a slack-jaw from his daughter, the elder man skillfully turned to the student with a renewed smile, "I'm sorry. Now, what can I help you with?"

The young man grinned sheepishly, a burning wish at the base of his scalp that he had not forgotten the disk in this room. His supervisor was always echoing at how he needed to keep better track of his work, "Uh, I just needed to collect a tablet left here from last night."

Mr. Kobayashi nodded with a continued positive disposition, "Ok. Can it wait a few minutes?"

"Uh, yeah. Of course," the intern replied, wobbling his head and backing away. It was unfortunate he did not fully take the hint, "Oh, and uh, Mr. Kobayashi, I just wanted to take a moment to thank you for this opportunity. It's been a great three weeks so far, and I just really wanted to express that."

It was no secret that flattery was one kind of fast-ticket to stardom here. The charismatic smile widened for show and his superior chuckled for full measure, "Well, good for you. May I ask your name?"

"Alright," before the boy could nosh another compliment, the heiress rousted herself to a standing position. Plastering a beam that looked both fake and intentionally demeaning, a petite hand reached for the intern's shoulder like a mentor ready to pass down the most important advice he would likely ever hear, "Mister … Takashi, let me help you out with something. When the real business people are talking, you just nod and smile and do exactly what they say. You get that?"

A numb smile and nod responded.

"Ah, see you're learning already," saccharine dripped from her lips, "Now, if you excuse us, we real business people have some real business to discuss. So, if you would be so kind as to wait out here until we are done, that would be great. Thanks."

The door shut in the young man's face before he could even reply, and the wealthy woman on the other side turned with satisfied conscience that there would be no more distractions. Mr. Kobayashi, however, did not look so pleased.

"What is your problem?" Irritation subtly lined his words.

"My problem," she shot at him with fire, "My problem is that we have a product exploding on people. My problem is with a company that can't seem to work with the prototype we designed. Now, I'm back to the drawing board with a deadline that I cannot make and a committee fighting me every step of the way! You look at these reports and tell me what the fuck I'm supposed pulled out of my ass to make this project a success."

Stunned would have been an understatement, although he was able to withhold dropping his jaw at her outburst. He was already aware of the problems without her order to acquiesce, but pulling out one of the manila articles from her stack gave him some time to mull over the valid complaint.

After a stretched moment, her father spoke in a low tone, "How much time do you need?"

Bulma continued to stand near the door, now suddenly red-faced from her aggressive behavior. This was not how she planned on presenting her case, "I need at least another six months to a year. It has to go back to blueprinting."

He shut his weary eyes behind the folder and sighed, "That's too much time."

"Why?" Bulma's balked expression deepened as she threw her hands out in utter exasperation, "Why? The product has been in the works since its inception _fifty years ago_. What is six months difference on its release date doing to make?"

Throwing down the report, Mr. Kobayashi's hardened gaze somehow managed to cut her boisterous attitude to the core, and Bulma relaxed her arms to analyze the uncharacteristic motion. The elder man paused though, his words carefully articulated to not seem so harsh. An understanding look accompanied them as he could see, and at least admire, her tenacity to get the job done right. She was a Briefs, after all, "Bulma. This project is the culmination of my entire career. Of our family legacy. I would like to see it revealed to the world before I retire."

"Excuse me?" She quirked a brow with this, "What the hell are you talking about? You told me at the beginning of the fiscal year that you had at least another five years with Capsule Corp."

Her father's expression slowly matched his eyes as he focused on the table again in effort to find an appropriate rebuttal. Months passed since that conversation, when he offered to place her as a corporate executive so she could act in his stead overseas. It was supposed to be part of her training before eventually taking his position fully. But things had changed.

"Come with me."

The silence set the younger woman on edge, and it was at this moment that Bulma realized her last face-to-face conversation with him had actually been at the beginning of the fiscal year.

With this in mind, the situation unexpectedly made her feel further apprehensive as Bulma followed her father into the adjoining office. Tracing her fingers along the wall, she had to think hard to remember when she was last in the main corporate office. All of the deadlines in the past couple of years forced her to travel so much. They grew apart.

"What's going on?" She asked tentatively.

The older man took a longer pause than necessary, unsure quite how to bite the bullet. Wringing his fingers against the soft leather of his high-back chair, "Two months ago, I was diagnosed."

The truth lodged in his throat when he saw her blink with recognition and he had to coughed out his courage, "It's cancer."

Bulma stood there in shock, unable to draw a sentence with her breath. Suddenly now, she could see how fatigued he appeared. How much his hair had whitened and thinned in the passing seasons. He lost weight. This was all too reminiscent.

"No one knows."

And then slowly, her brows tightened together, rapidly wetting eyes narrowing, passing concern for some deeper betrayal. She uttered it in a whisper, "When were you going to tell me?"

"Ah, now." His compassionate smile would win nothing with his child, the one who perfected the loving manipulation as a toddler. There was no easy way, and they both knew it, "I wanted something more personal than this when we both had time."

She bit her lower lip from retaliating in a manner she knew would only seem immature. As her heart ache grew, small memoirs of her mother came to mind; a reminder of how things turned out the last time this happened. It was not fair.

"Is it terminal?"

"We aren't sure," a composed, rather sensitive answer came, "But, it's was caught early enough, so hopefully treatment will ensure a successful remission."

"Ah." A small smirk crossed her face with a compliant nod.

"Do you now understand why I want this done, Bulma?" His smile was a reward for her enduring strength as Mr. Briefs finished their rare family moment with his own subtle of plea, "I want to see this to its end, in case the worst should happen. And you are the only one who could possibly pull this off. You're my little genius and I'm counting on you."

Bulma swallowed the lump and regained self-control, albeit with less stability as she looked up into her father's eyes. She had been away for too long.

* * *

His pace slowed once he reached the white stucco building. He was getting a migraine again, and all the socialization with the surrounding residents had him convinced that he was slowly degrading his intelligence. Bulma suggested that he stayed in her home while she was gone, but in the end he refused. It seemed too sterile. It evoked memories he would rather forget while on the mud ball. Besides, he got the impression that the woman was offering more out of guilt than for his benefit, and the alien was more comfortable with familiar settings anyway. He did not like change.

The light hit at just the right angle to impress a sneeze and quick shift before he regained his vision. He looked up to the small patio with a hitched sigh as weary eyes caught the intruder. The youngest of the imps sat next to the step, her face slumped and hidden by the mass of unruly black hair. Sad little eyes peeked from between her fingers, and Vegeta swore he could hear a sniffle.

"Go away." The foreigner muttered in passing. They never listened, of course. But that never stopped his broken record for the one day they should happen to obey.

The rascal immediately stood up, bee-lining for the entry. A deep growl escaped him, missing the dried lines down the girl's tanned cheeks. Side-stepping the runt was easy enough. The door shut with a loud groan in her face.

Vegeta motioned to sit down, kneading his temples in agitation. Bulma kept giving him medication to recede the pain. She told him it kept the inflammation down. When she departed, she handed over a small box of supplies, full of all sorts of things he guessed were medically related. Avoiding the substances for as long as he could, the migraines would just keep returning if he stopped taking the most important drug she called an 'antibiotic'. The last thing he needed was another collapse.

The saiyan heaved to his feet again, locating the container near his bedside. When he returned to his seat, the predictable flash of black in the corner of the window beckoned him.

"Xiansheng," the child began, but he quickly cut her off.

"I said, go away."

A set of beady eyes penetrated the residence. This was becoming a routine for them. Almost every afternoon, an imp would be lodged somewhere near his doorway. The oldest was usually the most polite, stopping by to simply check on him or deliver something from the cook. The middle would lounge around on his porch after school, asking ridiculous questions and spewing trivial facts about her world to him. The youngest, the most pestering, would usually just watch quietly from the window. The peeping tom always held this probing gaze about her; never approaching, yet willful enough to still invade his personal space.

"Please," she whimpered.

"Aren't you gone yet?!"

_Why won't she take the hint_?

There was a long pause, but Vegeta knew the child was still there. Her small body eventually slouched down against the wall as she began to cry softly. Flat sobs grew in volume as they racked against stunted snorts when she tried to quiet herself.

His headache was never going to go away at this rate. He needed to get back for lunch; otherwise the cook would be knocking down his door with added concern and more inane chatter. Like an annoyed older brother, Vegeta flounced open the entry on his trespasser.

"What."

The imp gulped in some air for a reply, wiping at the waterfall.

"What do you want?" He pressed aggressively.

For a moment, he was unsure if the wailing was going to resume. Her large brown eyes flooded forth, her slur almost unrecognizable.

Yelling was getting him nowhere. Vegeta crouched down to her level, pinching his fingers in a poignant gesture that instantly seemed to silence her, "Stop!" Satisfied, he continued more calmly, "I don't understand you with all the sobbing."

Biting her lip, the girl mumbled a somber explanation, "They are going to make me throw it away."

Eyes narrowed as he cocked his chin, "Throw what away?"

"I just wanted to keep it. She's nice," the girl implored, "Jiejie said that I wasn't old enough, and mama told me that we don't have the space. So-" she caught herself before she could finish. Staring off toward one of the brush trails, she turned the facet back on.

"Stop crying."

But it was futile by this point. The youngest imp took the opportunity to grab one of Vegeta's free hands and lean into it for comfort. He fought the urge to push her away, instead refocusing the child with a quick jab to her shoulder. The move only fueled her angst though, the wail more insistent. Sighing exasperatedly, he admitted that he lacked the know-how to deal with this sort of confrontation. What was he supposed to do, leave her alone to scream all day? It would only worsen his headache.

"What do you want from me?" The tone was not the most pleasant, but it was the best he could come up with on short notice.

Instantly, the child ceased her sniveling to look at the alien square in the eyes. It was like she was boring into his soul, her gaze was so intense. And the gesture was somewhat unsettling for him, so the saiyan drew back on his knees to observe more keenly.

Swallowing over and over, the troublemaker had a plan rumbling in her little brain. A determined expression crossed her after another minute. She stood up, dragging his sodden palm as she went. She would show him. Then maybe he would understand.

Vegeta did not want to go, but he was willing to sacrifice a little if it would shut her up. They headed down one of the many narrow trails, cross-cutting a creek and meandering around random trees. Some of the branches were almost too low, but for all of his famed strength, Vegeta could not pry himself from her tiny fingers. Too little too late, they stopped suddenly in a clearing. Another trail hooked up with theirs on the other side; one he knew led to her home.

An impatient huff disrupted their peaceful setting. Glaring down out of the corner of his eye, the elder had no need to ask what was on his mind. The child turned to him with a pleading gesture, her squeaky voice hoarse from all of the trauma, "I just don't want to throw it away. I don't know what to do…"

She pointed to a small bag at the base of a tree. Vegeta frowned in confusion before addressing her, "It's a sack."

But before the girl could respond, he caught minor movement beneath the yellowish weave. His scowl deepened as he turned to her, "What is it?"

The child started to cry again, mumbling her repeated phrase of how she refused to follow through with her family's wishes. Vegeta stood there, shifting back and forth between her and the bag in frustration mixed with curiosity. Did she want him to get rid of it for her?

He chose the course of action, waltzing toward the minuscule parcel and pulling it up to eye level by one of its cloth ties. In the moment, he found it quite odd that a child would seek him to carry out such a task. He was well aware of his role in society. Still, he never considered that an innocent brat would be able to pick up on it so readily. Something was living in there; his expertise was yet again sought after to extinguish it. Like all things in this universe.

"Go home." He did not bother to turn to the child.

However, the girl remained waffling in her spot, unsure of what he was going to do. She only wanted his advice.

Her presence was distracting, and unexpectedly he found himself unable to carry out the act in front of her. Turning, he was not so polite this time, "GO!"

She jolted as though just struck by lightening; a squeal accompanied her flee up the path. As easily as she asked him to finish the task for her, it was just as simple to frighten her away. The saiyan did not understand. It was never his job to care, anyway.

The bag shifted again, turning on its tie as the bundle within punched tiny claws into the stitching. Vegeta eyed the marks carefully, investigating with a wary finger. Whatever this was, perhaps he should do it quick. He would never get the chance, though. As he pulled his arm out to wrap the unknown creature against the trunk, a sharp high-pitched cry reached his ears. And it sounded familiar.

He retrieved his arm quickly enough, plopping the container onto his palm and detangling the string. Soft fur caressed against his sensitive skin before he was even able to get the top fully open, exposing large blue eyes and pointed ears. The mewling came again, this time with an equally pitiful expression to match.

* * *

AN: What do you think he found in that little baggie? You think he'll let it live? I swear he won't be staying in China forever! I hope that the duel names for Briefs/Kobayashi aren't too confusing. It will be more clear cut in later chapters – home life Briefs; business/public Kobayashi. Hope you enjoyed, and if you really care about the progress of this fic, please leave a review. Thanks. 


	14. Isolation

**AN: I don't own anything. Owi. I haven't updated in a very **_**very**_** long while. Sorry. Let me tell you the horror since February 2007 – totaled by truck, 4-16 happened, had prelims 4 days later, 10 days later went back to China for a month-long fieldwork stint, did an intern in Houston for 9 weeks, and now I've been teaching and processing new samples so that I can finish my PhD in a year and take a job I was offered from said internship. Lots of fun. Wish you could have been there. Now, in return if you like this, maybe you can review. Thanks.**

**Chapter 13 - Isolation**

"You are too emotional," she quipped.

He winced at her words. These observations always seemed to wound him in a manner that made his skin crawl.

The officer continued. Her smooth deep voice wrapped around his mind with a sort of strangling quality, "You hide everything as though these events have no affect at all. Yet, the moment your endeavor is trumped, you let yourself spin out of control."

To her, his breath was a waste of energy; no amount of training could meet approval. Still, even in death she felt inclined to remind him of it. The superior stood facing him, her slender form straight. Her features void as per norm.

"Is it because you never really accepted this reality?" She offered, finally.

"What do you mean," was the slow reply.

"If you merely accept the path you choose, there would be nothing to get emotional over," she clarified. "The fatal flaw for all saiyans it seems was their inability to compromise."

There it was again – the slap in his face. He figured by now her words would eventually tag an insult. It mattered little that her origins were the same.

"You believe that I should be happy subservient?" He questioned.

"It is not a question of happiness," she motioned around the empty docking platform. The candor of the superior's voice changed, stressing the point in her lesson, "It is about choice. There is no arguing with the Authority."

"So, acquiescence is the rule for survival," he stated flatly. "We are nothing but slaves to them."

"Everything serves a purpose. Even your species' function can become obsolete."

"I can't accept that."

She sniffed in affirmation, "And hence, you are emotional."

"You've always seemed quite comfortable with your defiance of the Authority," he retorted after a moment.

"You act as though I behave according to my own rules."

The rebuttal was obvious, and to his regret, emotionally filled, "You do."

Fine dark eyebrows arched, the expression mimicking her response, "You assume that I somehow deviate from my own design."

She always spoke like that. Like an automaton.

He sneered with disdain, "You're not a machine."

The enigma looked at him then with a subtle, almost human smile. A smile that seemed out of place from the mentor he knew so well. Almost as though it belonged to someone else entirely, "We are all machines, Vegeta."

* * *

The wrap at the door jarred him awake, sending a twinge down his spine as he lurched forward. Cold sweat and a deep, reverberating shiver followed.

"Xiansheng," a muffled call came from the other side.

Vegeta peered at the warm sunbeams pooling beneath the window. How long was he out?

"Xiansheng?" The call echoed after a moment, this time with a hint of concern, "You here?"

"Just a minute!"

Like all of his intruders, no further affirmation was necessary, and the visitor casually clicked on the lever and swung open entry with a satisfied nod.

"Eh, you're finally awake," the cook started, hauling a large basket of supplies onto his counter space without a second thought. The small older woman glanced at the saiyan with a wide grin before motioning to another object near the doorway, "I was wondering if you were hungry by now."

He frowned while she picked at the styrofoam package filled with uneaten rice and chicken, "Lin," – her little helper and spy – "said that you were sleeping when she stopped by on her way home yesterday and didn't want to bother you, so she left this at the doorway."

A typical motherly stance surfaced, just to make sure he was listening, "Are you feeling well? You need to eat to regain your strength, you know. Bulma said to make sure you took your medicine."

Chiding himself wearily, he knew he should have jammed the door as the endless fussing would never end now. Closing his eyes again, he rubbed his temples with a desperate attempt to cling onto the final tendril of sleep. The looming feminine figure slowly dimmed back into his memory. It seemed, over the cycles he convinced himself to forget the past completely until that dark presence reclaimed itself in the forefront of his mind, recycling the already emplaced mantras into newly twisted nightmares. Every time, he continued to wish her away. Every time it failed.

His senses were not too far gone to pick up the plop of a small body falling to the floor. The cook began to unpack her essentials, an idle chatter filling the room with promise of food, "I am leaving for Maoping tomorrow to help my brother with his restaurant. Since the flood, he's had little time to manage it, and our father is sick. You understand."

Vegeta nodded simply, his eyes still closed.

"While I'm gone, I thought I'd bring some things to help you. Perhaps you would enjoy learning how I prepare vegetables from the garden."

So, she was finally making him fend for himself. Just like the woman. He smirked internally with hope that somehow her invasion of his space might eventually lead to some peace.

However, his expression changed as a high-pitched cry filled the room, the epicenter at the woman's feet. Contemplating stamping it quiet then and there, he was halted by her unabated drabble, "Ah, I see you received xiao Mei's package."

He nudged up to glare at her in a manner that would make anyone else disappear. But, the cook was unwavered as she bent toward the bundle of black fur, her hand guided by a chunk of chicken.

"What do you mean?" he asked slowly.

She peered up in a knowing gesture, "Well, the girl's been beside herself over what to do for days. This seemed the most likely solution."

"Solution," he repeated.

Instant suspicion flooded him such that the accusation could not be helped. When he opened the sack to come face to face with a squalling kitten, Vegeta found it difficult not to immediately question why the creature was still alive, let alone what he planned on doing with it. Only that he could not comprehend the motives for the girl's requests out of nowhere. It made little sense to him.

So, the next most logical probability must be, "You mean, you had her trick me into taking it?"

"Heh, no. Her angst was real," she stated bluntly, turning back to the task at hand. "She first came to me, begging me to take the creature. The child found it near a ravine with no mother to care for it. Without someone, it will surely die. Xiao Mei wanted to keep her, but there is already a family to feed and she is too young to understand how to properly care for anyone. So, I told her to come to you for help, and now I see this was a good suggestion."

The shock was hard to hide. He could not have possibility misinterpreted the entire time, "Why?"

"You're obviously a person who has been many places." She smoothly replied, "Experienced many things. I figured that she could benefit from your guidance."

Vegeta raise an eyebrow slightly, "You didn't think I'd kill it?"

"What?" The cook turned sharply with disbelief, but waived him off dismissively after a moment, "Oh, I can't see you doing that."

"You don't think I'm capable of it?" His tone became darker.

The elder chuckled a bit in the danger, "Of course not. You've never before, why start with such a pitiful thing?"

Color reached his cheeks. He was not expecting that. The woman spoke so naively, but then again, his response to the situation was uncharacteristic given that he would have followed through on any other occasion, perhaps without any motivation. His gaze shifted to the undersized kitten contentedly grooming itself on the cement floor. It looked up from the comfort of its fur with a low rumble emanating from it as loudly as the whine just moments before. For some reason, its Cheshire grin uneasily set in his mind.

_They really have no idea_.

"Besides," seemingly unfazed by the man's reaction, she set out oil and a large wok. "You need company, Vegeta. Living here all alone. Nothing to live for; nothing to look forward to. It's not healthy."

His self-righteousness blurted out before he could control it, an icy glare renewed squarely on the woman's back, "I don't need company, and I don't need your advice."

But, she was genuine when she returned with a wise smile, ushering him forward to join her, "Oh, I have no advice to offer that would hold any meaning to you. I am merely a cook here to give you what you need. Now, come here so I can show you how to steam rice, ne?"

* * *

"I'm sorry to hear," a friendly voice cut through the silence.

Bulma looked up from the stack she was creating. Soft linen lined the table where she was stocking, and a smooth smile crossed for a moment before seriousness replaced its façade, "Thank you, Krillin. I know coming out to the city must be difficult."

The monk waved off the politeness. It was too Japanese for her western appearance, "It's on my way to China, anyway. Tokyo is the only airport that flies there now."

"I know."

"Beside all of that, I get to see the Changjiang again," he promoted with a smile, "That was on my road to Songshan with my teacher, you know."

"I recall." Bulma kept her pace with the laundry. The Tibetan relished in the joys he found with memory. It did not take much for him to start recollecting minute details about any adventure; even less the tale surrounding what forced him to leave his childhood.

"It seems so long ago now," he muttered, picking at a towel. His friend was preparing the lavish apartment for someone new. Krillin knew who it was, but was reluctant to bring it up. Bulma would likely not want to discuss it anyway.

"So, what are you going to do?"

She slowed to ponder his question. What was she going to do? It was clear that she would have to take over duties in the company. Well, for a while at least until they could stabilize her father's condition. Find a cure. Promotion of the capsules would be in full swing by the fiscal year, and she had to somehow find a solution to that growing crisis. Then there was this. The folded laundry carefully prepared and awaiting the arrival of her new house guest.

"Are you sure you're ready?"

Bulma glanced up, now realizing the towel was wrung in her hands, "Heh, I'm sorry. My mind is elsewhere."

"How is he?"

"Who?"

Krillin quirked his brow, "Your father. How is he?"

Sighing, "Oh, he's fine. Normal like nothing's changed, really. I just have to take on a little more than I was before. You know."

"So, this means you'll be in Tokyo for a while," he ventured. He knew many people who would be grateful for that, "Perhaps then, you could spend some time down in Kyoto on the weekends and visit the mountains," he paused, "or even the islands. It's been a while."

His suggestion broke her solemn state, and Bulma let out a chuckle, "Perhaps. It depends on how things go here."

"Well, Roshi sensei always says that breaks are necessary to ­­­­recharge the mind."

"Roshi sensei's life is a break, Krillin."

Thinking a bit harder, his face beamed with an idea, "Maybe Goku could come up to visit. I don't think he's ever been to Tokyo."

"Hn," Bulma focused on her friend a little longer. He was fishing for something, "Goku likes cities less than you do, and besides that, I think Chichi would be a bit upset."

"She could come up as well."

"Gohan's in school," she raised a finger to cut him off, "and I doubt that she would enroll him here for a short stay."

"Then a longer visit might be in order."

She dropped the linen and stared at him skeptically.

"What's this about?"

Krillin sighed after a moment. He would never say it, but the situation she put herself in frightened him as much as it did everyone else. However, he hated being the messenger for the party's concern. Bulma had a temper, regardless of how close a confidant she was, "Perhaps this isn't such a good idea."

"What isn't a good idea?"

"Come on, Bulma. Tokyo is one the largest cities in the world. Are you sure you want to bring him here?"

The heiress' eyes widened, "Do you think I would risk the safety of this city if I didn't think it would be OK?"

He gritted his teeth, "Of course, not purposefully."

Before he could continue, she grabbed the stack and proceeded from the room. Locating a closet, Bulma busied herself. The monk let his shoulders slouch a little as he followed, anticipating the spat ahead.

"Bulma," he started, "you didn't see what he did."

She turned sharply from the floor, "Don't you dare lecture me on what I may or may not know. I was there – I saw it. I have a whole fucking facility filled with it."

"Then you should understand our concern."

Bulma glared at him, "You know, has it ever occurred to you that maybe he isn't as bad as you think he is?"

"No offense," Krillin swallowed with his characteristic grimace warding impending doom, "but there hasn't been anything to suggest otherwise."

Throwing down the final towel, "Well, since he's been in China, _no one_ has been injured."

"It's possible, although unlikely," he considered, "that no one has managed to tick him off yet."

She ignored him, "In fact, he's been amazingly helpful with the local residents over the past months."

"You gave him a job?"

"Well, he has to do something."

"Yes, but-" Krillin did not know how to process this. The rampaging monster he witnessed in the dark back in the summer was a whole other story than what Bulma weaved to Goku over the passing week on the phone. It was her way of convincing him, "Bulma, those people could be in grave danger."

She rolled her eyes in aggravation, "Oh, please – he's harmless. Hell, I've had confrontations with him on a number of occasions-"

His expression morphed into shock, "You what?! What did he do to you?"

"Not a damn thing," she hissed lowly.

Krillin found that hard to believe, no matter her usual honesty with him over the years. But, her eyes were hard and cold, forcing him to shift away from her gaze.

"Look, we're all just worried about you," he said dejectedly after a long pause.

The woman huffed before rousting herself for the kitchen, "Isn't that the reason why you're coming out there with me, anyway? To alleviate your fears?"

She hit the nail on the head. Ironically, it was Goku who first suggested it. He would have gone himself would the visit not also have caused a major confrontation with Chichi. There were problems at home.

"Bulma, you have to understand where we're coming from."

"What do I have to understand?" She shot back hotly from the counter, "That because you spent two minutes in the rain with this man, you have him all figured out?"

He finally spoke up, a serious look to counteract her pride, "You came to clean up the mess, but you weren't there for hardest part. I've never in my life seen Goku that angry."

"You've seen him angry before," she pushed.

"I've never had to pull a gun from his hand."

That was not normal and Bulma knew it. She knew it the moment she treaded that conversation with him at the hospital. It was why, "Goku asked me to help him, so I'm doing what I can. You know I can't keep Vegeta in China forever. He's restless as it is and…" she lingered, regretting telling him before she even opened her mouth, "I need him."

Krillin nudged up the kitchen table caught off guard, "For what?"

She did not want to admit it. Not this soon. Krillin, out of all of them, would understand the significance but not the urgency.

Hesitantly, "Vegeta understands this technology. I think he could help me with it, which could lead to other advances in some current projects."

_Namely the capsules_.

Krillin sat there for some time, puzzlement and something akin to what Bulma deciphered as vague disappointment. Leave it to her to think only of herself at a time like this. "But, what's to stop him from leaving, or worse?"

She considered his question grimly, yet honestly, "Nothing."

But she had to try.

* * *

AN: Them there is some trust. My shortest chapter ever at 2900 words! Usually, I'm much more long winded than this. So, enjoy and please review. :)


	15. Expectations

**AN: I don't own anything, except the cute and cuddly kitteh. So, I haven't updated in a while. Sorry, again. Thank you for all of the reviews I've received on this story while I'm frantically trying to finish a PhD. It's coming along gradually, especially with slow chapters like this – but, I say 'I must tie everything together and that takes thought and many chapters of back story.' And you say, 'but we want to read BV porn and have a corny outline'. I say 'Poo to that. You're all lying. Deep down, you too long for a good read. SO, AU it is!' **

**Hopefully, it's not too crappy. Thanks for reading, and feel free to leave a review. The next chapter will come out soon.**

**Chapter 14: Expectations**

It would be another month before they landed on the sandy beach. Krillin knew to expect nothing more than what was there as he climbed out of the plane toward the small town that sprawled above the many terraced farms like a staircase. The inhabitants never looked to him or his companion strangely, which also failed to surprise the Tibetan. Turning though, he observed how different Bulma seemed this time as she waltzed toward her jeep wearing a casual bright dress instead of her sturdy slacks and tank. He wanted to say it was because of the weather that she chose to be so relaxed. Yet somewhere deep down, Krillin could not help but let concern slip back to the surface.

"The weather is wonderful today."

Bulma normally did not return to her Chinese residence in the fall or winter. There was too much to prepare for: the end of the fiscal year, holidays, New Year. Further distracting, it was the one time she was actually forced to be around family and away from seclusion to do what she did best. She pulled at the dusty handle and careened back to her companion with a rare true smile, "It's not often this cool here."

Krillin returned her grin.

By transferring Vegeta to Tokyo, it would give everyone the chance to judge for themselves. Bulma considered that it would also give Goku the opportunity to have his say in person before she ever gave the alien time to flee. To at least face the crimes he committed. Of course Goku would have preferred to handle this in China over Japan, away from towering buildings filled with potential media and government interest willing to muddle their exchange. Still, it was a compromise he would have to deal with, and that was how she presented it to Krillin as they arrived.

"Are you returning to Nepal or Songshan for holiday?" She idly questioned on their drive.

The monk paused, "Songshan to visit my old teacher. He's been ill."

"I'm sorry."

"It's his time."

Krillin was young for his abilities. As the eldest boy in his family, it was his charge to live in the monastery until adulthood and receive an education in the traditional Galub ways. Somehow, however, he made it much farther east during his early schooling, and one day was rather unceremoniously given to the shaolin temple by his primary mentor for unspoken reasons. The acclamation was difficult, although he always managed to recall it with a sort of fondness if asked. After all, experience – he rationalized – simply created a foundation where chance and fate could intermingle, leading to unforeseen opportunities. Surprises. And ever was this obvious as he glanced over to one of the world's most powerful women recklessly skirting up their gravel path and into the dragon's gape.

They passed the village with a casual wave and approached the dwelling quicker than she anticipated. Turning the engine off, Bulma's voice picked up with subtle impression, "Well, he's made something of the place."

The white-washed concrete was clean, and a slate roof replaced large holes and broken beams last she saw them. Although weathered by years of neglect, most of the outward damage seemed repaired with an added patch of green around the front and along the roadside. She noted two red chimes, lined with a string of coins and bells, hung on one side of the doorway. The character 'tiger' was scrawled beneath it in child's handwriting.

"Hn."

"Where is he?" Krillin questioned, peering around the side of the building.

"I'm not sure. He might be out on a chore," she peeked through the window inquisitively, "I can return tomorrow if we don't find him."

The monk missed half of her statement, inspecting one of the several well-maintained paths leading back to the village. For a long time, the farmers planted fruit trees and pine along the sides of their terraces and between boulder-lined walls in order to keep landslides from ruining the crops during monsoon. Thorny indigenous vines overgrew many of the shrubbery left unkempt since, yet the trails before him remained neatly trimmed.

It was not for him to question, and with a shrug, Krillin turned on his heel toward the home. A snap of a twig heightened his senses suddenly enough, and he finally caught sight of the guest Bulma so kindly obliged. Leaning against a tree not an arm length from him, cold eyes penetrated in eerie silence.

At first, he thought his heart might leap from his chest. It was the first time Krillin had been this close to the alien since staring him down over the shoulder of his friend. Black hair and refined features were all the same as he remembered, save the rabid expression now mellowed into a blank stare. The light filtering down between leaves seemed to sap the color from the male though, allowing what little expression to leave its menacing vibe.

He managed a slow, calming swallow. They say that predators feed off fear.

"Krillin!"

The alien's line of sight strayed toward the voice as Bulma rounded the house, and Krillin finally let out the held breath.

"I see you fixed up the place," she said with confidence, paying little mind to a proper greeting.

Vegeta glanced momentarily over the woman before lifting himself from the tree and bypassing her, "Given the conditions you left me in."

She let out a huff with her smirk before turning back to her friend at the head of the trail, "Come on, let's make this quick."

Entering the building, Vegeta dropped the small parcel he was carrying on the scant counter space and began digging beneath for a large thermos. It was a bag of green tea that Lin left for him at the restaurant. She was very keen to give it to him as a gift, not saying why and without much conversation. Awkwardly, she simply approached him, placing the tea in his right hand with a smile and walked away. It was not until he left for the afternoon that he noticed the youngest sister spying around the corner.

He knew what to do with it. In a minor way – one he would not dare admit to the children who followed him constantly, for it would only exacerbate their curiosity – the item invoked a brief, ever so tiny smile in his eyes, even if it was a farce to him. Such as sad set of circumstances, he considered. He was becoming so accustomed to his day to day activities that a simple bag of dried leaves could spark such interest. Perhaps this was a special blend.

"So, what's the tiger for?"

Shit, now he had guests.

Stiffening, Vegeta could sense her scrutinize his space with an eager sense of judgment. The square enclosure was utilized to maximum efficiency. Along one sidea thin countertop outfitted a kitchen, complete with a makeshift stove and a wok neatly placed above it surrounded by essentials he accumulated over the months. The other side comfortably staged a cot and clean linen stacked in the corner. An aged table, gifted by a fieldworker, separated them.

He knew the conversation would direct itself with or without his cooperation. So, it was pointless to fight the involuntary flinch as a padded thump and rumble across the enclosure quickly revealed the reason. Bulma looked to the object in shock at first, followed by a blooming smile as the sensation of a fluffy tail wrapped around her calf with another pleading cry. Cheekily, she glanced up just as Vegeta's jaw tightened in response to thoughts echoing metrically off the walls.

This was unexpected.

Unwarranted.

_He has a pet?_

"Xiao Mei found her and brought her to me," His headache was going to return, he knew it. Whispering abashedly, "Her parents were forcing her to get rid of it."

"So, you kept her," her voice half surprised, half uncertain.

Turning with a prepared pot in his hands, he chose not to answer. Instead, an deep scowl focused on the other intruder already sitting at his table. Krillin's reservation sent the wrong message, "What? Did you believe that I would butcher it like any other thing?"

The small man blinked from the sudden confrontation, evenly replying with as much consideration as he could assemble, "I make no judgments."

A barely audible grunt emphasized Vegeta's skepticism, but was dismissed with his next question, "Tea?"

Bulma pursed her lips, still fixed on the kitten while it flitted around the underside of the table for attention, settling for a spot near the monk's foot. Perhaps this transition would be easier than she even realized.

Tapping her forefinger on her lips in thought, "Unfortunately, we don't have much time to chat today. I have to see Krillin off and then make some arra-"

"Are we returning?"

"Well," she paused. But it was too late as she missed the change in his demeanor. Instantly, the pot was gone, replaced by a tight grasp onto her upper arm. She glanced up in a flare of frustration only to be met by steely eyes.

"You promised."

The sharpness in his hiss was threatening enough. Krillin motioned to intervene before a slight hand warded away the danger.

Bulma only looked on with a rivaling will accompanied by her innocent smile, "Arrangements have been made. We can talk about it tomorrow, ne?"

The sayian's once passive expression now oozed with intensity as he slowly relinquished his hold. One misinterpreted intention; one wrong statement and the whole situation could run out of control.

Yet, Bulma remained unfazed, casually gathering herself to leave and patting the kitten's head on the way the door, "We're returning to my home for the evening for some rest." She nudged back with a pleasant suggestion, "Would you like to join us?"

"No."

"Well, then I'll see you in the morning."

It was that simple. The scientist strode out to her jeep, a composed smile on her face as though nothing unusual transpired.

Krillin paced between the pair, unsure of how to respond and more importantly how to leave now that the hostile focus shifted back toward him. Tension unable to release itself as easily as his friend just diffused the confrontation – it disturbed him more at how flippant she was in return.

"Bulma," the monk began as they drove away. He could feel the spiteful gaze probe them as they left.

"Krillin," she replied.

"Are you sure…"

"Do you trust me?"

This was no idle question.

She turned to her friend, the vehicle pulling to a stop, a seriousness that intuitively he could not disregard, "Trust me. Please."

* * *

The next morning, Bulma came to greet him. It was early; the sunlight just barely peaking through the window pane. To be frank, she did not expect Vegeta to be there when she arrived. The residents said that he often was out of his hut before sunrise, returning briefly around breakfast to find the labor men with a new set of chores for him. Ever since the cook left for Maoping, they effectively left him to his business. She guessed it was for the better.

Sliding into one of the chairs near the door, she basked in the morning glow. Today was an important day, for both of them. She would get to learn his technology; he would get to flee. It was win-win in her eyes.

That was the assumption she was sticking to at the moment, anyway.

Her hand reached down instinctively just as a furring back met her fingers. She opened an eye to the scrawny shape with a wry smile, "Why hello, little thing."

The black kitten was extremely small, although she wondered if a blind person would question that with all the quakes rumbling within its little chest. Preparing a place for it in her lap, purring filled the room.

_Must be a runt_.

"You want it?" The reply was low from the entry, but it managed not to startle her. Bulma had been practicing this for weeks.

She turned slightly toward him, "She's very cute. Have you named her?"

Vegeta cast a glare before returning to his chore, "Where's the monk?"

"Krillin? Wow, I'm surprised you remember him. It's been nearly nine months."

He sighed through his nose, a response not too uncommon with the locals. She would go on like all of them.

"You know, I've always loved cats," she said idly, massaging the back of the kitten's ear, which only escalated the fevered approval. "My father had a series of them as I was growing up. Little ones. Fat ones. Once, he had this little blacky – he called him Scratch – that would sit on his shoulder all day long." She smiled, "This little girl sort of reminds me of him."

Ignoring her was all he could do. Perhaps he could drug the tea and get her to leave. But they had plans, and her postponement was trailing long enough.

"You should bring her with, I think."

"No one asked your opinion."

"Hn. Maybe not," the woman finally looked up, taking a cup and pouring herself some tea. A defiant grin followed as she reached into her tote, "Here, I brought something for you."

He turned only halfway as a thin plastic object was offered at arm's length.

Snorting further, his tone when flat, "What is it?"

"It's a tablet," She said proudly. "It will help you with everything you need to know while you're with me."

Skeptically he grabbed the edge, noting the immediate difference in technological style relative to tools she gave him previously. It was lighter than it appeared, even though it was large enough to cover part of his window, if it were not semi-translucent. Perhaps this was another magic mirror.

He made the first guess, "It's a communication device."

Bulma smiled more fully and cuddled the kitten between her palms, "Kind of. It's like my computer back at my home, only portable."

Ah, it was protocol slip, except this was bulkier and loaded with thin series of squares on one side lined with strange text. They're technology was behind.

"It's too thick."

"Okay," she chuckled a bit in confusion. "Look, all you have to do-"

"I'll figure it out." He waved dismissively, turning the device over in the light.

Long silence passed after that. Eventually, Vegeta sat down and poured a cup of tea, all the while tracing the edge of the legal-size pamphlet of plastic wearily. All Bulma could do was observe, his companion's attention now also entranced. He never turned it on – she was biting at the chance to point out the button. After all, it was one of her designs, and the model had not yet been released on the market.

Capsule Corp. housed a collaboration of the greatest minds in the computing industry. Long after the twenty-first century heralded the computing age into constant interaction with the user, everything from syncing with credit cards, cameras, cell phones, chargers, was acquired remotely. After the War, however, technology became somewhat retro in its use, and companies discovered that they had to rebuild their infrastructure and user platforms for an utterly new generation. Complete set of tools, all geared to create a 2D, 3D, and 4D environments were developed; although the average client would likely never get past the text tool on an average day. Personally, Bulma enjoyed modeling complex design projects with software outfitted to think with the human brain as it worked. It was her learning computer, as she called it. But then she did leave the classy product labeling to the Advertising group.

Abruptly, he put the tablet down as though her new toy now bored him, "When do we leave?"

"But," her expression tightened into a pout, "you haven't even turned it on."

He apparently did not want to play as the glare slowly took shape.

"Oh fine," a sharper tone emphasized her disapproval. "We'll leave tomorrow. It will give me some time to gather my extras, anyway. I assume you won't have much to bring."

He grunted.

The kitten mewed to his disdain.

"Well, except for you, sweetie," the woman coed. She paused then to glance up at his disinterest, "Where we're going is very different than here – you know that."

Was it a question or an indirect instruction? Vegeta gave a side-glance, unsure how to respond.

She would hate to admit risk to anyone, but the venture warranted precaution, "You have to promise to do as I ask."

"Or what?"

"Or I can't help you," she replied simply. "We have that agreement."

That was shaky at best, but it would have to do. Somehow, she got the feeling that this alien was not one to take back his word. Nodding subtly, Bulma received her answer and the burden lifted from her shoulders. A smile broadened her cheeks as she roused herself from the chair; her lap warmer without hesitation curled up on the floor near her caretaker again.

It was when she turned to leave that a word fixed vividly in her mind – _Xixi_.

She turned back to a the stark image of her new collaborator cantered back in the chair with tea in hand, so composed and self-assured. She was sure she heard him.

"Is there anything else you want to say?"

A small smirk augmented his reply, "You play a dangerous game, Bulma."

She laughed and walked out into the sun.


End file.
